“Step back, Micasa,” Hawke ordered. He had just picked up the straight sword he had brought in with him and proceeded to drive it directly into the pile of gyrating parts. The mess let out a scream of pain as it continued to pull itself together around the sword. It only took a minute or so before Scab Kahlot was once again whole, pinned to the floor of the cave by the sword. The demon let loose a terrible string of indecipherable words but was unable to extract itself from the ground. With a hand on my back, Hawke ushered me towards the exit as the creature continued to curse us.
“How did you find me?” I asked. Every step I took throbbed through my whole body, and I didn't look forward to how badly it was likely going to hurt on horseback, but the more distance we put between ourselves and the cave the better.
“I almost didn't. Scab escaped with you so fast I couldn't follow on foot. By the time I got the horse calmed and up the cliffside, you two were long gone.” Hawke paused. “But I felt the pull. I thought it was coming from the other side of the Madness, but I realized soon after that it was in the Madness. It was my best bet for finding you, and apparently, luck was on my side.”
“Like the pull from Claudio and the big sword guy? What part of your soul did the demon have?”
“This.” I couldn't see Hawke in the inky blackness of the tunnels, but I heard a soft clack as he shook something.
“The sword? It looks so old.”
“It is,” he agreed. “A friend made it for me a very long time ago. It's my most treasured possession, so much that it's almost like a part of me.”
“The demon couldn't cut you well with it, but you…” I shuddered at the thought of what Hawke had done to my captor, “…did all that with the same sword.”
“Essence can do more than just the powers I've shown you. Things like giving a deadly sharp edge to an old blade, for example. This sword is worthless to anyone but me.” He sighed. “I just wish I could know why Scab Kahlot had it.”
A white circle of light came into view as we turned a corner, and before long we were standing out in the waning light of the moon as it prepared to slink away for the night. Had it only been a few hours since I was abducted?
Sir Brown Horse was hobbled nearby with a rock pinning the reins into the dirt. Hawke quickly trotted to him and removed the rock, stroking its mane gently as the horse stood.
“Sorry, buddy, I didn't have time to tie you up properly,” he cooed apologetically as he kept petting it. After a few treats, the horse seemed to have forgiven him for its discomfort and allowed us to mount. We were off as fast as we could manage, every bounce sending me a fresh jolt of pain.
“We're gonna have a rough ride ahead of us. I hope we can get out of here before it gets too hot,” Hawke said. The light of dawn was already beginning to paint the sky. From behind us, something howled, and I couldn't be sure whether or not it was the wind.
Chapter 8: The Medicine Man
The sun pounced on us much faster than we had hoped, and the searing heat returned with full force. Sir Brown Horse's pace slowed to a crawl as we forced ourselves through the blistering sands. Even when both Hawke and I dismounted and walked alongside him, our poor steed was suffering much more than either of us and both of us were suffering plenty in our own right.
A night of incredibly poor sleep sprinkled with constant beatings had left me with barely the energy to stand. The stifling heat bore through my heavy clothing, leaving me coated in a film of sweat that stung my cuts without remorse. Hawke was trying his best to keep a strong face, but he regularly clutched at the deep gash the demon had left on his arm, and bloodstains continued to grow slowly on the back of his clothes.
Between us and the horse, we drained our water supply in only a couple hours. The food stores held up, but only because we were too thirsty to eat more than a bite at a time. Sir Brown Horse shunned any food we offered him and, on several occasions, tried to lay to rest. Hawke stubbornly dragged him back to his feet for us to continue, but finally, the horse's sheer weight won out, and it collapsed to the ground exhausted. No matter how much we both tried to get him up, he refused to budge.
“Alright, Micasa, grab your things and as much food as you can carry,” Hawke said with a sigh as he started unloading packs onto his back.
“What about Sir Brown Horse?” I did as he asked but was more than a little reluctant to leave our equine friend just sitting there.
“He's just tired, he'll follow us when he's had a bit of a snooze. Here, I'll leave this with him too.” Hawke set one of our water bottles next to the horse's face. I already knew the bottle was empty, but I could tell that Hawke was getting frantic and didn't want me to worry too much. Without another word, I loaded up the last of my things into my travel sack with a few rations of cheese, bread, and nuts. Hawke tossed me an apple from the supplies he had scavenged, and I bit into it eagerly. The juices ran down my chin, but I couldn't care less as I savored the first moisture I'd had in hours.
“If only we hadn't eaten so much of the fruit beforehand,” Hawke said sourly as he shifted the weight of his pack. “Thank the Almighty we're not too far from getting out of here.” He pointed towards where the sun had been slowly creeping upwards, and I could just make out some craggy shapes lining the horizon.
“Is that the end of the Madness?” I asked.
“Yes, and there's a beautiful forest not too far inland of the Old Kingdom. It should be nice and cool there, and we can take our time resting back up.” He gave me a weak but reassuring smile and started tromping through the sand once more. I hoisted my belongings a little higher on my back and started behind him.
“Have a good rest, Sir Brown Horse,” I whispered as I passed him by, trying to swallow back the lump in my throat. I knew enough to know that we wouldn't see him again.
Salvation looked to be within reach, but the sun appeared to have stopped moving as we trudged on for another eternity. Surely days didn't always last this long, I thought to myself. We had marched for so long that the sweat had completely dried from my body. That small comfort made way to a much larger concern as I felt a terrible flush begin to overcome me.
Hawke was having just as hard a time, his light skin turning a brilliant red as his tongue lolled from his open mouth, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. I tried to ask and see if he was okay, but my tongue was so swollen and sticky I couldn't make the words and quickly gave up trying.
Finally, the blinding light of day began to fade, and the heat started backing off ever so little. The ground was quickly changing from sand to packed dirt, and the odd shrub could be found poking its branches out here and there. The indistinct shapes on the horizon took the more definitive shapes of trees, and when the ground began to slope and the first splotches of greenery and life came within view I wanted to cry out in joy.
What I got instead was a strange floating sensation, like falling in a dream. My legs seemed to have stopped listening to me, and before I could wonder what was going on I felt a massive jolt blast through me. Suddenly I was rolling sideways down the decline, my arms flailing limply at my sides. Even still, I felt completely detached from the situation. From a great distance I heard Hawke call my name, but all I saw through my blurred vision was his own limp body sliding face down in the same direction I was heading. I blacked out long before I stopped rolling.
* * *
The first thing I remember distinctly after that was the ground bumping and heaving under me. I thought for a bizarre moment that it was an earthquake, but when I opened my eyes, I caught sight of the night sky slowly crawling past me, hidden beneath a canopy of needled branches. A quick glance around told me I had somehow found my way into a cart, and I was far from alone.
At least half a dozen men and women sat at the edge of the cart, amid a pile of sacks and bushels full to bursting. All had kerchiefs, either tied around their necks or covering their faces, and their eyes were set in a perpetual squint. One was looking directly at me, eyes similarly narrowed, but when I returned
the gaze they widened.
“Aye, the wee lass is awake!”
The others turned and jostled around me, all talking over each other in a cacophony of inquiries, but the woman who spoke first raised her hand for silence.
“How ya feelin, wee one?” she cooed softly as she bent over to inspect me. As she pulled her mask down, I could clearly see how her face was etched with lines of weariness and tension. Her skin was bronzed from the sun and her short stubbly hair bleached almost white, but despite her hardened appearance, there was no mistaking the concern she wore openly.
“Haughey…” I tried to call out for my companion, but my tongue was still sticky and dry, and I could barely make a sound. The woman peered at me confused for a moment, then snapped her fingers.
“Oy, the lass needs a drink! Hop to it, ya manges!”
There was a lot of confused bustling, and suddenly I found a water skin being forced between my lips. Never had I tasted anything as delicious as those first precious swallows of water I nursed from the skin, deliriously cold and wonderful. I smacked my cracked lips a couple times and felt a bit of my strength return.
“Where's Hawke?” I managed to mutter as my eyes still rolled around, looking for any sign of him.
“Hawkeys? Don't get many a'those around here, lass, but the falcons are a sight t'see,” a man with a bushy beard and half an ear missing answered. I shook my head as much as I could manage.
“No, Hawke. He's my…” What did I consider Hawke, come to think of it? Friend? Guardian? Dad? I went with the easier choice, “…my friend.”
“Oh, the blonde lad with glasses.” The woman's eyebrows raised in realization. “He's in the cart behind us. Both o' ya had a real bad scrape wit' somethin' mean, I'd wager. Found ya at the foot o' the forest, ready to call it in. Don' ya worry, though, lass, we got a friend our own tha' can patch ya up in a jiff.”
The helpful lady propped me up sitting on the side of the cart and offered me a hunk of bread. I bit in and found it sweet and moist to my delight. It didn't survive long.
“I'm Jo, leader o' this band o' ruffians,” she introduced herself as I ate. I could see the way the other men and women puffed up a bit with pride as she pointed around at each of them, rattling off names. “The bearded one is March. The lass with the long brown hair and steely eyes is Cassie – ya, ya, we see yer hair, ya wench! Stop rubbin' it in mah face! The two o'er there with th' matchin' blue kerchiefs are the Bello brothers – no relation – an' the scrappy one in the corner tryin' to hide is Mx. Blake.” The smallest of the group poked out a head topped with a stringy mess of short black dreadlocks and glowered at Jo but nodded nonetheless.
“Mixter Blake?” I asked, unfamiliar with the title.
“Neither 'he' nor 'she,' more of a 'ze.' Don't let that bother ya, lass. Blake there is the nicest o' this gaggle o' marauders an' bandits!” The group cheered in unison, followed shortly by a return call from what I assumed to be the group in the cart following us. Blake waved at me cheerfully before returning to what ze was doing before: sharpening the head of a particularly brutal looking axe.
I started feeling better and tried sitting up a bit more, but a bolt of pain rocked me and I collapsed back onto the cart bed. Jo rolled me onto my back and stroked my face with a calloused, tender hand.
“Easy there, lass, yer a lot worse than ya might think. Don' worry a mite, though, we have the best doc this side o' the Madness at our camp. He'll get ya both back ta tiptop afore ya can say 'Ya want HOW much money?' ”
I was curious what she meant, but my head was swimming so badly I could only force out a nod and lie there, feeling every minor bump in the road and wondering how Hawke was doing behind us. The black of night and the light from a swaying lantern mingled in the trees, throwing veins of shadow to dance over the wagon and its occupants. The thin strips of darkness brought back memories of cracking whips. A lump formed in my throat as I tried to shove away the thought.
The only experience I had with doctors was the one overseer on the plantation who patched up the slaves after particularly gruesome punishments. Thinking of his excuses for treatment was enough to make me blanch, but I tried my best to remind myself that the situations were completely different from my old life. Besides, if Hawke was truly worse off than me, even that sort of paltry help would be better than nothing.
I fell asleep again at some point, awakening as the wagon shuddered to a halt, but it couldn't have been long as the sky was still black as ink. The group jumped out and started unloading their cargo with an efficiency that showed they had done this hundreds of times before.
Jo, on the other hand, cradled me in her arms and hopped over the side with little effort. We had stopped in a large camp with a number of modest tents placed sparsely around. The only light came from the wagon's lanterns and a lone bonfire in front of one of the tents that made me recall the Madness with a shiver.
“Oy, wake up ol' Medicine Man! We got a couple o' new patients t' bilk!” she called into the gloom. A high, lilting voice keened out in response.
“Keep it down, ya moron! The old man needs rest too! They can wait 'til the morrow, they can!”
“Not this it can't! Found 'em half thirsted ta death in the Madness, covered in beatin's, and one's jus' a wee lass! Get 'im up!” Jo barked everything without the slightest hesitation; there was no doubt that she was someone important around here. The voice in the darkness grumbled a bit, but I heard the sound of footsteps plodding away, no doubt to get this Medicine Man.
There was a grunt and thump behind me. I looked over to find Hawke standing next to the wagon that had pulled up behind ours, clutching his chest and panting for air. His arm gash had been crudely bandaged, the wrapping already crusted with black and yellow.
“Whoa, buddy, take it easy an' lemme help ya!” cried a scrawny man who was climbing out behind him. Hawke shook his head and glowered at Jo, his eyes resting on me.
“I'm fine. I've had worse,” he insisted. “Micasa needs the help far more than me.”
“Yer crazy, buddy!” retorted the scrawny man. “That slice ya got is already rotten an' yer half-addled with fever! Yewd be lucky ta make it through the night!”
Hawke turned a sharp eye to the man, who cowered back and said no more, before addressing Jo. “I mean it. There will be hell to pay if you try to help me before Micasa is well.”
“Shoulda thought o' that afore ya dragged the poor lass across the Madness, ya moron,” she replied venomously. “We'll be back for ya when the li'l lady is up an' at 'em, if I'm feelin' generous.” She stormed away with me in tow, a pained look on Hawke's face. It was clear that her words had cut deep.
Jo had taken the cart's lantern with her, but even its radiance made little difference in the shadowy camp. More than once a tent or tree seemed to appear from nowhere just a few feet in front of us, but every time the bandit leader stepped around it without slowing in the least.
Finally, one structure loomed out of the darkness, large as a circus tent and surrounded with burning braziers. Their glow was dim, but they all wafted a thick incensed smoke that filled the air with perfumed scents. The moment she crossed the threshold of the tent's opening I understood why.
The stench assaulted me almost immediately. It was the smell of excrement, urine, and death, hanging in the air more strongly than the flowery aromas outside. Playing as a perfect accompaniment were the constant moans and wails that rose from several of the thirty plus cots that filled the tent space. Most of them were occupied, though the symptoms of their ailments varied: some sported bloodied bandages, a few had terrible lesions and welts dotting their bodies, and a thankfully scarce few were missing entire limbs. One poor man lay with both arms and legs missing, rocking his head back and forth in what looked to be a nightmare-riddled sleep. In the far corner I could see a massive tarp laid out, covering multiple large and lumpy shapes. It didn't take much imagination to guess what was underneath it.
A few people walked between the cots, chec
king on the bedridden and speaking softly to them. One was toweling the sweat off a red-faced man who was shivering violently. Another slowly changed the bandages on a woman's leg, tears streaming silently down both their cheeks. Jo walked me past numerous victims and caretakers and set me in a vacant cot well apart from most of the others. Kneeling beside me, she stroked my brow and watched for signs of worsening, every so often stealing a glance at the entrance expectantly.
Eventually, another person did step through the tent flaps, stifling a yawn with a massive hand. He was one of the shortest, stoutest men I had ever seen; he was only about a head taller than my own modest height but carried a gut that made me suspect every meal he had was a banquet. His robes strained over his stomach, but his shoulders and arms were corded like a man who had worked hard his whole life. His face, in contrary to his strong looking body, looked like it belonged to a young boy just on the cusp of manhood, though his expression was clouded with sleepiness. He rubbed his bald head with one of his giant mitts as he glanced around with bleary eyes, slowly waddling to Jo when he spotted her.
“What's the condition?” he asked without so much as a hello, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his grogginess. Jo stood and started talking very quickly and very quietly, the large man nodding every so often. The way she had been waiting for him, I guessed he had to be the Medicine Man, yet I didn't see any sign of medicines or first aid tools on him. After just a few seconds of conversation, he held up a hand to quiet her and knelt by my bedside.
“Does it hurt, dear?” he asked as he grabbed my wrist gently and looked over my face, assessing my injuries.
“Just a little,” I admitted. Truth be told, it wasn't anything I hadn't felt before, but I was more worried about how difficult it was for me to move than the pain associated with it.
“I understand. Just relax and you'll be fine soon. I'm quite good at my job.” He chuckled and ran his hand over my forehead.
“Are you sure you'll be okay, Old Man?” Jo asked.
Broken Soul (The Scholar's Legacy Book 1) Page 10
