Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1)

by Karissa Laurel

  Looking to Malita, I held my hand close to her face with three fingers extended. As I counted down, I lowered a finger and hoped she understood. “Three—two—one!” On the one, we hefted ourselves over the wagon’s tailgate, dragging the unwilling Jenna along with us.

  We landed hard, each of us groaning with the impact. My wrist screamed and a blinding bolt of pain shot across my vision. I rolled to my knees and braced my injured joint against my chest, praying it was only a sprain as I gritted my teeth and panted through the pain. Malita knelt next to me, grousing about something in her own language. Jenna lay on the ground unresponsive, and I couldn’t tell if she had suffered an injury. Malita and I didn’t pause to find out.

  We scooped Jenna up by her arms and dragged her to the ditch beside the road, ducking into the tall grass as the tax men rumbled by on their fast horses. When the jangling of stirrups and the spurting breath of the animals faded, and when the night insects resumed their clicking and chirping, I gathered the courage to raise my head and inspect the road. The night was still and the road empty. I exhaled a gusty sigh.

  “Jenna, are you hurt?” I asked.

  She sobbed, but it sounded more like heartache than body-ache.

  “Jenna?” I asked again. Except for several scrapes, bruises, and an aching wrist, I had survived our tumble without injury. Jenna rose from the ditch. The moon had broken through the clouds, and I watched as she inspected herself for damage.

  She wiped away her tears. “Only a bad scrape on my knee.”

  Malita patted her own head and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. She took my hand and placed it on a spot behind her temple. A welt the size of a walnut had sprouted there. She patted her head again, shook herself, and smiled. I took that to mean that she had no other complaints.

  “What now?” Jenna asked.

  What now indeed. An escape had presented itself, and I hadn’t hesitated to take it, but the next step in our plan eluded me. Possibly because there was no plan. And what about the other girls, and their fates? I was so caught up in escape, I hadn’t considered what it might feel like to leave them behind. What could I possibly do to help them now? Survive. You can’t help anyone if you can’t take care of yourself.

  “Now, we walk,” I said.

  We could have waited at the roadside for a passerby, but I preferred not to rely on the kindness of strangers, at least not in our pitiful state. Besides, at that late hour, who knew how long we would have waited before someone happened by. More likely, the tax assessors or our pirate captors would come searching for us first.

  “But where will we walk to?” Jenna asked.

  “Anywhere but here. I don’t know if they’ll come back for us, but I don’t want to take that chance. We need to find some place to hide, at least until daylight.”

  Malita tugged at my arm. “We go.”

  “Yes.” I chuckled. “We go.”

  Malita started off in the same direction as the wagon, and I didn’t object. The driver had a destination in mind, a town or city, certainly. Although I wanted to avoid our captors, the three of us needed to find civilization and the food, water, and shelter that came with it. Jenna lagged behind us as we tramped over the rough road, but she didn’t resist or whine anymore.

  We walked for a while in silence, but a soft melody began to leak from Malita’s lips, something throaty and deep, and she kept the rhythm of her song with a steady click of her tongue. I listened for a while and then found myself picking up the tune and humming along. Her song grew louder, and her pace quickened to match the beat.

  “Someone’s going to hear you,” Jenna hissed. “Sound carries far at night. You’ll bring the pirates down on us all the faster, and we won’t hear them coming until it’s too late.

  Malita caught Jenna’s tone and ducked her head. Jenna’s attitude rubbed me like a rough seam in riding britches, but I agreed with her logic. We gave up singing and walked on, keeping our ears open for approaching traffic.

  I had no ability to judge distances, but I knew something about the movements of the stars. By the position of Aeolus in the sky, I figured we had walked for nearly two hours by the time I spied a solid shadow at the far edge of a distant field. I couldn’t tell if it was a house or something else, but it beckoned to me.

  I paused mid-stride and considered the shadowy structure. The chain connecting me to Malita yanked at my arm when she continued on, not realizing I had stopped. The abrupt movement reawakened my injury. I sucked a breath and moaned when white-hot blades of pain lanced my wrist. Noting my reaction, Malita said something in a concerned tone. She put a gentle hand to my wrist and prodded it with her thumb. I hissed when her inspection bothered a particularly sensitive spot.

  She clucked her tongue and patted my arm, then released my hand and lowered to a crouch. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out what she was doing, but the familiar sound of ripping cloth answered my question. Malita rose and took my arm again. She laid a length of fabric that must have come from the hem of her dress over my wrist. Then she wound it, around and around, crossing it several times above my thumb and across my palm and up along my forearm. When she reached the end of the bandage, she knotted it in place with a flick of her nimble fingers.

  “She’s an escape artist and a physician,” I said, wishing I knew the words to tell Malita how much I appreciated her, and how lucky I was to have her with me.

  My new friend leaned in close and held up her own arm. She made a show of rotating her wrist joint. She motioned to me, and I raised my bandaged appendage and showed her how she had wrapped it tightly enough to prevent easy movement. She nodded, satisfied with her ministrations, and patted me on the shoulder again. I threw my arms around her, hugging her. She laughed and returned my embrace.

  Jenna snorted and turned away. “Why the sudden stop, Evie? What did you see?”

  I raised a finger and pointed at a distant building that had caught my attention.

  “What is it?”

  “A hiding place.”

  “How do you know someone’s not in there?”

  “I have a feeling.”

  “A feeling?” Jenna repeated.

  “Let’s check it out. If it’s occupied, we’ll move on.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  I shrugged and started off across the open field beside me. “I’m starting to think you don’t like anything.”

  Chapter 13

  That distant structure turned out to be a barn occupied by several musky animals and piles of doughy smelling hay. A nanny goat greeted us with a terse, “Bahhh,” then snuggled up to her babies and paid us no more mind. Two milk cows stared at us with baleful eyes and the velvety nose of a plough horse eased over his stall door and sniffed at his intruders.

  “We can’t stay here,” Jenna said. “Someone will be here for the animals at first light.”

  “And we’ll be gone before then,” I said. “Help me look for a tool that can get rid of these blasted irons.”

  I raised my arm and jangled our chain at Malita. I made a pair of shears with my fingers and mimicked cutting through the links. She nodded and searched for a suitable tool. An unlit oil lantern sat on a worktable near the doorway. We scrounged through the table drawers until Malita found a packet of matches. After several false starts, she managed to light one and touched the flame to the lantern wick, setting it alight. We used the light to search the barn and discovered a large rasp in the tack room.

  “I think we could file through our chains if we had a few hours,” I said, “but the sun will be up soon, and we need to be gone before then.”

  After scouring the barn again, Malita found a mallet. With a triumphant sound, she held it up and tugged us back to the tack room. She picked up a sturdy iron spike the farmer had probably used as a hoof pick and pulled us over to the worktable at the front of the barn. After lying her manacled wrist on the table, she inserted the spike’s tip into the keyhole. She motioned for me to pound the spike with the mallet. I unde
rstood her meaning but was squeamish about swinging the heavy mallet at her delicate wrist.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  She must have understood my tone because she nodded and turned her head away, scrunching her eyes shut.

  “Don’t miss,” Jenna said. “You’ll break her wrist.”

  I grimaced at her. “Do you want to do this?”

  Jenna assumed an impatient stance and waved her hand, indicating I should move it along.

  “Three… two… one,” I trained my eyes on the slim tip of the spike and swung. The mallet struck true, but not hard enough. In my reluctance to hurt Malita, I had held back. She grunted and repeated her hammering gesture. She clearly wanted me to do it again and with more force. I murmured a request for help from my father and counted down again.

  On one, I swung without hesitation, emptying my head of doubt. The hammer hit the spike and bounced up, almost striking me in the nose. Jerking to the side to avoid the recoil of the blow, I lost my balance and fell to one knee, but Malita’s manacle had fallen open, and her wrist was loose. She shouted something, her joy evident in her face and voice. I handed the mallet and spike to her, urging her to free the rest of us. In short time, we made a pile of irons on the worktable.

  “What now?” Jenna asked, rubbing her wrists as if to remove the memory of the cold metal. For once, a look of expectation showed on her face instead of one of trepidation.

  “Food would be nice,” I said.

  “I didn’t see anything like food when we were looking around.”

  “Neither did I.” I patted my empty belly. Malita saw my gesture, and her face brightened. She pointed at Jenna and me, then pointed to the floor, issuing a command that sounded like “Blannah.”

  I thought her command meant she wanted us to stay put, and she dashed through the door before anyone could object. Jenna shrugged at me and I shrugged back, but we stayed in place as Malita had demanded. About the time I began to worry, Malita returned, carrying a bundle and presented it to us with a flourish. I unwrapped her gift on the worktable, uncovering an almost full loaf of bread and a large hunk of cheese.

  “Malita,” Jenna said. “How did you find this?”

  Malita pointed to herself and then walked her index and middle fingers across her palm. She pointed in a direction away from the road. Then she put her hands together prayerfully and rested her head on them, imitating sleep, and added a descriptive snore. She replayed the whole story like an actor on a stage, showing us how she opened a door, tiptoed around until she found the food, wrapped it up, and then hurried back to us.

  “I guess it makes sense that a barn has a farmhouse nearby,” I said through a mouthful of cheese and bread. We gobbled the food and pinched up the crumbs until nothing remained but an empty napkin.

  I glanced at the cows and imagined a fresh glass of milk but figured we’d taken enough from the farmers. “We should get going. It’s almost light outside.”

  We buried our shackles under a pile of hay and left the barn. Without the restraints to hinder us, we walked faster and easier. The faintest glow from a dawning sun glowed in the horizon to our right, indicating the road traveled north and south.

  Galland was north of Espiritola, and the port city of Pecia sat on Galland’s southern coast. I wondered what would Gideon have done, after he arrived there without me. Would he search for me or thank his lucky stars for being freed from his burden? Jackie, however, had sought my companionship by choice, and he might have been willing to help if I could get in touch with him again. Connecting with his relatives in Pecia was my only hope for finding him. So, it was to that city that I intend to venture, one way or another.

  “Where are we going?” Jenna asked after the sun broached the sky with early morning golds and pinks. “We’ve been walking forever.”

  “The wagon was going this way,” I said. “There must be a town.”

  “But won’t we run into the pirates again? We’ll be recaptured.”

  “Not if we’re careful. We don’t have many other options. I don’t know where we are, and a town will help us gather our bearings.”

  Traffic increased as the sun rose higher, and though we watched with care, none of the wagons and carriages bore our previous captors. Sometime in the late morning, the first signs of settlement sprang up in the distance. My throat and tongue felt like dried leather, and my feet complained about the long walk, but my pace remained steady. Malita kept up with me, but Jenna lagged behind as before, each of her steps fell slower and slower as we approached the edge of a bustling city.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked as I waited for her to catch up.

  “What if they’re here? I don’t care to end up a slave again.”

  “I thought you said it would be no different than home.”

  “That was before I considered that I might be sold to a bawdy house.”

  “A bawdy house?” I could guess the meaning of the term, but waited for Jenna to clarify.

  She blushed and turned her eyes to her feet. “You know, where men… do things with women they’re not married to.”

  “Ah,” I said. Just as I thought. Not that I wished for such a fate, but my desire for a cold mug of cider and a hot meal outweighed my concerns for the pirates and their intentions for me. But the other girls.... Can I just stand by and let Capitan Alemar subject them to such a horrible fate?

  Malita stood by while Jenna and I talked. I would have asked for her advice, but that surpassed my ability with hand gestures. She looked at me with big, inquisitive eyes and raised one eyebrow in a questioning gesture.

  “Blannah,” I said, pointing to her and Jenna and then to the side of the road, hoping the word meant what I assumed it had when she used it in the barn. “Stay here, Jenna. I’ll come back for you after I check it out and assure we’ll be safe.”

  “What if something happens to you?” Jenna asked.

  I shrugged. “Then, I guess you’ll know it isn’t safe.”

  Chapter 14

  With no money and no language skills, I entered the small town with no expectations other than to avoid the pirates and get my bearings. Maybe I would luck into a bit of discarded food, or a public well with clean water. Before long, I caught a whiff of beer, the sour odor of fermented things and cooking spices. Unable to resist the allure, I followed my nose to a small pub with a wooden placard posted beside the door. It displayed a carved and painted image of a bull sharing a pint with a large ram and El Toro y Carnero inscribed beneath.

  The Bull and Ram? I should have spent more time with the language books at home, but with no tutor to help, I never pushed myself to study them. Father only pressured me to learn Dreutchish, the language of our ancestors, and Espiratola was a long, long way from Dreutch.

  As I stood outside, pondering the sign, a man stepped unsteadily through the door and onto the dusty street beside me. He wavered once, twice, and pitched face-forward, heading fast toward the ground.

  I grabbed his meaty shoulder, and tugged him upright. “Oh, be careful!”

  He leaned on me as he struggled to right himself, smelling of unwashed body and alcohol. Together we wobbled closer to the pub’s wall, and I leaned him against the wooden facade. He mumbled something that sounded apologetic, but I waved him off as I turned toward the establishment’s entrance.

  “You are from Inselgrau, no?” the man said in a slurred accent. Startled, I turned back to him, and he stared at me with watery, unfocused eyes from behind cloudy spectacles. Bushy black eyebrows and a shiny bald head accentuated his pudgy face.

  “Yes, Señor, I am,” I said.

  “I was teacher of Inselgrish. One time.” He swished a finger like a sword. “But no more.”

  I tried to keep the humor out of my voice as I watched him sway on his feet. “You used to teach my language?”

  “Yes, I teach at the school. Long, long, long time ago. But, no more. They put me out!” He pumped his fist and that sent him toppling once more. I caught him aga
in, and we struggled against gravity until he regained his balance. When I backed away, his face had gone red, and perspiration sparkled on his brow.

  “Can you tell me where I am?” I asked. “What town is this?”

  “This town is terrible town,” he said, followed by something unintelligible.

  I waited for his rage to recede and tried again. “All right, it’s a terrible town, but what is its name?”

  “Its name?” He squinted at me. “Its name, its name... is Antonio Xavier Olondo.” He drifted off and closed his eyes. Had he fallen asleep on his feet? I shook him, and his eyes flew open, his expression changing from surprise to annoyance. “Wha’s this, my lady, wha’s this?” He furrowed his brow and tried to focus on me, but he could barely keep his chin off his chest.

  I tried again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Not your name. What is the name of this town?”

  “This town is San— San— San Marena.” He exhaled as if giving the answer had taken a great effort.

  “And how far are we from Galland?”

  “Galland? This is not Galland. This is Espiritola.”

  “Yes.” I struggled to keep my patience. “But if I wanted to walk to Galland, how far away is it?”

  “Walk to Galland?” He considered my question, even going so far as to rub his chin contemplatively. “You do not walk to Galland.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too far.”

  “How far is it?”

  The inebriated teacher focused on me again and pushed himself up straighter. His efforts worked for a moment, but then he slumped against the wall again. “Four hundred kilometers. Maybe more.”

  “Oh dear.” I sagged against the wall beside him. I could walk about sixteen kilometers a day with a steady pace and no delays. I couldn’t speak for Malita, but I assumed she could do the same. Jenna on the other hand.... Anyway, it would take forever, and we had neither supplies nor money with which to purchase them.

  “You do not walk to Galland,” Antonio said again. “You hire a driver.”