by Coral Walker
There was a slender knife cut on his arm, and it bled a little when he stretched his arms to put on the cool silky white shirt. The shirt was instantly stained, and he was rather apologetic as he glanced at it.
The pleasure of being unchained was brief, and they brought him a box. It was the same sort of box he had seen earlier in the street, except this one, being adorned with golden flowers and silver dewdrops, looked costly. Inside it was softly padded with a purplish floral lining. If it hadn’t been for the dark leather straps hinting at something else, the box could very well have been taken for a lady’s jewellery box, expanded in size.
The keepers, seeming to be entertained by the incredulous expression on Jack’s face, started shoving him in jest. Jack’s body grew rigid at the thought of being placed inside a box. One of the keepers, growing impatient, tripped him from behind, and the others caught him halfway as he fell backwards. Together they hauled him into the box before strapping him in.
It was actually not that bad at all inside the box, compared to being bound high up on the rails. The fresh smell of the wood suggested that it was new. The interior of the box, carved skilfully to fit a body, suited him well. Neither too tight nor too loose, it reminded him of the deliberate fitting for a delicate, priceless vase.
A man lifted the lid to place over him, but he stopped. Lady Cici’s velvet blue face appeared and lowered towards him. Her limpid eyes, as clear as a pool of water, gazed at him intently.
“Jack, are you Jack?” she whispered quietly, pressing a finger against his lips.
Why should she ask if she already knew? Nevertheless, he blinked.
She waved her other hand, and a fine crystal bottle of emerald green gleamed between her fingers. Tugging his low lip open, she held the bottle over his mouth and tipped it. A drop of thick liquid fell into his mouth. His saliva surged at the tangy flavour of the liquid, and together they coursed down his throat. A vague stillness came over him, and he struggled to keep his eyes open.
How pretty she looked with her lips red and full, he thought before an irresistible sleepiness overtook him.
19
Fall
The gate and its great wall faded into dust. “Don’t you dare ever turn back,” the keeper’s coarse voice was still echoing.
Never turn back. Where did they expect her to go?
Ahead of Brianna lay a vast barren land baked under the blazing heat. The cart was growing heavier, and her strength was abandoning her.
She thought of Jack, almost intimately. She had never thought of him in such a soft light, and her new perspective on him surprised her and made her blush for being so out of character. But the more steps she tramped, and the more she thought about it, the feeling grew stronger and clearer. She had to admit that she did indeed miss him. When she recalled the image of him chained to the rails, a dull pain reverberated inside her.
What were they going to do to him?
He had fought to make her free, she reflected, as reasonably as she could, but the bitterness was gnawing at her like rats — if this was the freedom he had fought so hard for, then he had been tricked. Being shackled and deserted in a barren land like this, she could see nothing in store but death.
“It’s no better,” she muttered to herself, “than being chained up, with no freedom whatsoever, and living like a trapped animal.”
“At least you might stay alive that way,” a thin voice whispered in her mind.
She blushed as she heard her own voice saying that, feeling ashamed as if Jack could catch her thoughts.
The boy in the cart was ominously still. “Teilo! Teilo!” she had heard his name chanted many times throughout the crowd and seen him dodging and jumping agilely. But now he was more dead than alive. The makeshift bandage made from a simple stripe of cloth came loose, leaving bare the grisly wound. A hoard of silver-bodied flies enclosed it, buzzing with their wings beating furiously.
For a long while, she had been fending off the flies by jingling and swinging the chains. By now, she had lost the will and strength to carry on. So many of them, even she was besieged.
It must be the smell of death, she thought numbly.
Apart from heaving her legs from one step to the next, she didn’t care anymore — not about the flies, the dying boy, the endless road ahead, nor the blue-skinned folks trudging towards her out of the distance.
Travellers were rare on the road, but now and then hunters, mostly with game slung over their broad shoulders, plodded towards the city. Without exception, as soon as their eyes fell on the chains or the body on the cart, they skirted round her like a disease to be avoided.
But this time she was stopped. Keeping the rhythm of moving was the only thing she was capable of. She was irritated and almost lost her temper at being interrupted, if only her mouth hadn’t been burning from thirst and she had the strength to argue.
Her anger was quenched the moment she met the innocent gaze of the blue-skinned child, a couple of years older than Bo. One of his arms was outstretched, holding a pouch.
Water!
She grabbed the pouch from the child’s hands, put her cracked mouth to it and drank from it voraciously. Only after several big gulps did her good sense return. She wiped her mouth shyly and remembered Teilo — the dying boy on the cart.
Hands shaking, she unwound a section of the chains from the handles to allow herself near to his head and poured drops of water into his mouth. The water dripped out from the corner of his half-parted lips, and a swoon of helpless came over her.
Then Teilo’s head gave an unexpected twitch, and he coughed and spluttered. Small drops of water splattered out of his mouth and splashed onto her face. She giggled, though the noise from her parched throat sounded more like a strangled whine.
The very person whom Jack had no choice but to kill was still alive!
She gazed at him. The roughness of his red-coloured skin seemed to speak of his resilience —he was tougher than she had thought.
The pouch was now just a quarter full, and she was still dying for more, and yet she handed it back to the child.
The child pointed to her mouth, seeming to say, “Drink more.”
She hesitated and glanced at the father who was standing behind the young lad. He was a big man with his back bent under a heavy sack. He looked back with a mild smile.
Slowly and shyly, she sipped some more and tried again to return the pouch. There was still some distance to go if they were heading back to the city.
The child took it and hung it back on his belt. Out of a small bag, the father took out some small leaves with the curious shape of a child’s hand. He gave them to his son, who took them and made a gesture by holding the leaves over Teilo’s wound.
She nodded, unsure of what he meant, still she trusted him.
The leaves were laid over the wound, overlapping each other neatly and emitting a strong, piquant smell.
Perhaps to keep the wound in the shade and to keep the flies off, she thought as she watched the flies dispersing.
The father spoke, muttering something about a doctor in a hushed tone. “Continue this path … take the right turn … there … the doctor,” he seemed to be saying.
+++
The fork in the road wasn’t far away, but the small branch to the right went on forever. By now she had lost track of when she had taken the right turn. Worse still, the road became hilly, up and down, on and on.
Going uphill was alright if the hill was gentle, but when it became steep, her feet kept slipping on the gritted path, and she had to really struggle with her shoulders and limbs. Even so, going downhill wasn’t any easier. One time she lost control, unable to counter the weight of the cart, and was dragged and towed a long way down.
When the sun was setting, and shadows were stretching and spreading, she started to think it had been a mistake to believe the man. It was an upside-down world, and a mouthful of water could go to your head and make you believe just about anything.
But why on earth would they want to mislead her?
The innocent gaze of the child and the man’s mild smile suggested nothing but genuine kindness.
The path became narrower and was hemmed in by tall bushes and brambles. The shadows were gathering rapidly.
A sudden groaning sound emerged from the dimness in the distance.
She paused, listening. Since the fork in the path, she had met no one, and the sound, too faint to tell its source, nevertheless, kindled in her a spark of hope.
Ahead of her the path, which had been straight for a long way, vanished into a wall of shrubs. Her curiosity was piqued and, since it was downhill, she sped up.
The path didn’t disappear but took an unexpected sharp turn that was hidden behind thick branches. After that, it became wide and smooth, and around it the trees seemed pruned and the grass tended to. When the brambles gave away to trimmed hedges, Brianna broke into a jog. She could now see a thatched cottage, white with a comfortable look, stowed away behind the low hedge. A wooden gate opened widely by the path.
“Doctor,” she called, forgetting her drugged tongue. The sound pierced the silence of the air and startled her. After not speaking for so long it was strange to hear her voice, thin and strangely shrill.
“I can talk again,” she murmured, registering the fact with loud puffs. The drug must have worn off.
Hope was rapidly growing in her heart, and she couldn’t wait to get to the house.
But the kerb at the gate was high, and the narrow gate gave little room to manoeuvre the cart through. To no avail, she shoved and pushed the cart. “Doctor! Doctor!” She dropped the handles and started shouting.
Seemingly by an invisible hand, the front door of the cottage was flung open. A stark figure hanging from the ceiling flashed into sight and startled her. It squirmed pitifully while two armed men looked on.
She swayed on her feet.
One of the men turned and was now staring at her.
At once she hauled the cart around and wheeled it hastily back to the path. The path carried on a small distance along the garden hedge before sloping uphill.
She pushed with all her might and dared not look back, too afraid to find out who was following her. There was yelling behind her and, by the sound of it, three or four men were chasing her.
A whistling sound alarmed her. She trembled — they were shooting at her, probably with arrows. Despite her haste, she felt she had caught a glimpse of pointy things sticking up from the backs of the armed men.
Run, run!
Another arrow whistled past, tearing the air by her ear. Swerving to her right, she tripped over by a rock and almost fell. The jeering laughter from the men’s throats still sounded far behind as if they were loitering, indifferent to her flight.
The path, the smooth, life-saving path, was tilting upwards into space, and a panorama of treetops and hills, tinged by the rays of the sinking sun, unrolled and spread in front of her.
Cliff! No wonder the men were in no hurry.
More arrows whooshed past.
In stories, there were people who trained their senses to perceive the path of danger and thus manoeuvre their body to stay alive. In dreams she could do it too. But this was no dream, so she ran. No longer dodging and ducking, she lumbered relentlessly forward, as if there weren’t a sheer drop beyond the cliff, as if she could fly like a bird.
A sharp pain in her left calf took her by surprise. Her leg buckled, and her body lurched forward as she fell, pushing the cart unexpectedly out of her grasp. The cart sped on as though of its own will and, at the next instant, dived into the vast space beyond the cliff edge, hauling her with it.
She was aware of everything, the falling, the whining wind and the large jagged stones below. The cart, that she had struggled with for hours, was plummeting before her, recklessly as if aching for its freedom. Something was missing, she sensed vaguely. The cart was empty — Teilo was gone.
Out of nowhere, a large branch came into sight below her. The cart missed it by inches, but she smashed headlong into it. The impact gave her a terrible jolt, and the branches vibrated violently under her weight.
Before her eyes, the cart smashed and broke into pieces that bounced and fell. The branch that held her gave away, and again she fell, heading towards the flying debris below. In a moment she would hit one of the rocks jutting up with rough edges, and her body shrank from the inevitable collision. But much to her bewilderment, her descent was suddenly slowed and checked.
The foot chain, caught by some stub on the branch, had broken her fall. Although safe for now from a headlong crash, she found herself dangling over jagged rocks, trapped upside down.
A whisper came from above her, startling her. The tree was her first thought, but then she saw the red face of Teilo peeking down through the branches.
He is alive!
For so long he had been lying as if dead, and she, although sticking scrupulously to her plan to take him to the doctor, in her unspoken mind, believed that all she was doing was in vain.
He is still alive!
More than that, he was perching like a bird on the same branch that had caught her chain and looked well enough, though he winced and shivered now and then, troubled by his wound. One of his hands was pressing against the wound, and a mixture of thick greyish liquid and blood seeped through his stiff fingers.
“Can you get down?” he said in a quiet, shaking voice.
“No,” she groaned, rather deflated. She had tried. With tummy muscles as strong as hers, she would have pulled herself up if she hadn’t been dragged down by the weighty wooden handles.
There were voices coming over the edge of the cliff. Teilo glanced up anxiously.
“I’ll come down,” he said and took a deep breath.
He let go his grip and slid himself down along the branch, grabbing the chain on the way. Immediately Brianna felt the release, and curled up quickly for the drop, remembering the pointed rocks waiting below.
In a flash she swept past the tip of a tall rock and rolled down its rough side to a flat surface below. Teilo was not as fortunate as her as he fell. With a loud thump he smashed squarely onto the sloping surface of a rock pinnacle, responding with a muffled moan. He then tumbled off the rock, dragged by the chain, and onto Brianna, both of them ending up in a heap.
“Get to the tree.” The moment Brianna found his head, tangled up with her skirt, she panted out the words.
Teilo’s face was contorted with pain.
On hands and knees, they scrambled to the tree. The men’s voices came down again. Through the leaves, they saw the silhouettes of two blue-faced men leaning forward over the edge of the cliff.
She held her breath. Before her, Teilo, sitting with legs and hands sprawling, was shaking incessantly. His copper-coloured skin was now a greyish brown.
The men were gesturing, fingers pointing to the tree. From the shadows, Brianna saw their raised shoulders, arched backs and the contours of bows and arrows against their tilted heads.
In a panic she jolted forward, seizing Teilo by his arms, and dragged and shoved him under a big overhanging branch. The instant she heard the sound of an arrow, she instinctively enfolded Teilo’s head in her arms, pressing it down to her chest.
The first few arrows were as harmless as finger flicks, but the ones that followed, penetrating through thickly clustered leaves, tore the air around them before striking sparks on the rocky surface.
Teilo was shaking between her arms with giggles. He made no sound, but she felt it. Annoyed, she unfolded her arms, sat back upright, and stared grimly at him until the silly grin vanished from his sickly red face.
The men, satisfied with their attack, withdrew from the edge of the cliff and disappeared. For a while, they dared not move.
It didn’t take long for the men to return. A couple of heads popped over the cliff edge. By unspoken agreement, she and Teilo sat as quiet as mice long after they had gone.
20
Cli
ff
She sat bolt upright under the shadows, blushing in silence.
Had she just cradled his head in her hands?
In all the world, there were only two men she would respond to without a moment’s thought. Dad, with his large, warm hands, would catch her in the air and embrace her against his broad chest; and Bo, so good to cuddle, would throw a fit of giggling and roll with her.
Teilo was just a stranger.
The feel of his dry and burning skin was still fresh on her palms. She stole a glance. Lying half reclining, he looked pale and ill. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, she saw a curious sparkle in them, and then, to her annoyance, a slight grin crept up at the corners of his mouth.
Embarrassed and with her face growing hot, she flicked her glance away. He must think she was scared, she thought, and this possibility made her square her shoulders and put on a straight face.
“You OK?” she said in a stern tone, glancing down at him coldly.
“Never been better Tyan …” he answered weakly, and the name that escaped his lips sounded vaguely like “Tyanna”.
“I am not Tyanna. I am Brianna,” she corrected him, intrigued.
“I know.”
His lips spread into a full grin before twisting into a grimace.
“I am Teilo.”
“I know.”
There was an awkward silence, and then she noticed a few bloodstains on his face.
“Is that blood on your face?” She softened her voice slightly but still it sounded austere, conveying her superiority — she was the stronger one here. “Did you hurt your head?”
“No, it was from your leg,” he said.
Aware suddenly of the pain, she dropped down with a cry and hastily stretched out the wounded leg to exam it. A strange-looking arrow stuck out from the middle of her calf. The wound was bleeding a little, and it didn’t hurt that much, but the fact of being stabbed so brutally by an arrow was simply too overwhelming for her to think straight. She felt rather queasy just to look at it.
