Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  Curro stiffened. ‘She will be. Ever since we were children, she has always done what she said she would.’

  ‘So you and Nic keep telling me.’

  Curro dropped her hand. ‘I’m sure the others will tell you that as well. Ask Lucia, Dan, Jaime or Gabi—they all grew up with her. They know …’

  ‘Of course. But you and your brother are …’

  ‘We are like her brothers. She is only five years younger than me. You grew up with her too; you know what she’s really like.’

  Elena opened her mouth to argue. Curro raised his finger and placed it gently upon her lips, silencing her. He lowered his forehead to hers, then cupped her face in his hands. Her brown eyes softened, and the tension in her round, fair face eased and the soft smile he loved so well teased the corners of her lips. Curro traced the outline of her lips with his thumbs before kissing her. He straightened his tall frame with a sigh and ran his hand through his cropped dark hair. ‘We’ve no time for this,’ he said apologetically.

  They headed off again. Curro looked back over his shoulder. ‘I’m sure ours is not the only village to think of this. We’re bound to see others on the river.’ He readjusted the rolled leather bundles in his hands; one contained the basic tools of a smith, the other weapons. ‘It’s wide—if we stay in the middle we should be out of harm’s way. I just wish we were sailors,’ he finished with a grin.

  With a wry grin, Elena shook her head. How he could joke at a time like this was beyond her.

  Both became subdued as they walked through the deserted village. It had never been a bustling place, yet the absence of human activity was unnerving. A roaming dog raced around the corner of a building after a chicken. The couple jumped in fright: the sound was unnaturally loud in the dead village. The chicken’s high squawk was abruptly cut off. All they could hear was birdsong and the whisper of the breeze through the leaves. It should have been soothing, but Elena shuddered.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Curro asked.

  ‘This. It’s wrong … It just feels so wrong.’ She shuddered again.

  Curro smiled gently. ‘It’s just empty, that’s all.’ He placed his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. ‘Come on. Let’s not linger here.’ Looking around the village, he silently cursed his nagging doubts. Anyone not coming on the boat, unless too old, had already fled overland. Is this really the right thing to do? Curro thought. He caught Elena’s worried glance. If his wife doubted him, then how easy would it be for others to doubt him as well? ‘Are you with me, Leni?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. This is the best way.’

  They hiked in silence, with Elena still nervously looking over her shoulder as they took the shortcut through the wood. She clutched Curro’s hand. Her eyes darted furtively from shadow to shadow. A stick cracked to her left. She began to quake.

  Curro kept her hand firmly in his, encouraging her along.

  Nearing the edge of the wood, they could hear raised voices. Curro gently extricated his hand from Elena’s grip and crept forward to observe from behind cover. Gathered in the clearing on the bank of the river were the villagers, standing amongst a vast array of household goods. A massive chest was balanced precariously in a wheelbarrow, and someone had even brought a feather mattress. He could see his friends, Jaime and Daniel, amidst the crowd, yet Curro remained concealed—waiting.

  Jaime and Daniel were twins. Jaime was a miller, tall and broad shouldered. Daniel was a weaver, wiry and slight of frame. Both had a quick wit, a keen eye and a mischievous sense of humour. Right now their outraged faces blazed as red as their hair. Jaime was vibrating with anger. Daniel, although clearly annoyed, was trying to pacify him.

  Jaime bellowed in disbelief. ‘You can’t bring that.’

  ‘But it’s been in my family for years,’ exclaimed the pompous, rotund matron.

  Elena giggled nervously beside Curro.

  He looked at her sharply. ‘Ssh!’

  ‘Oh? Shall I tell your husband that we can’t fit him in because you want to take your china instead?’ Jaime was seething. ‘Or shall I tell Bertran the baker that he will have to leave his two children behind?’ He was met with shamed silence.

  ‘Now, now, Jaime, don’t be so disagreeable,’ Daniel chirped. The matron’s eyes lit with renewed hope. ‘Come, Jaime, give me a hand.’ Daniel grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow, staggering a little under the weight.

  Jaime frowned. He wasn’t in the mood for this. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed as he steadied the load.

  Winking, Daniel upended the wheelbarrow in the river. The chest and its contents sank like a stone. There was a quiet chorus of giggling from the children present. ‘Now,’ he said gleefully, ‘we’re going to check what you’re all planning to take. Unless we approve, it doesn’t get on the boat.’

  ‘Who are you to tell us what to do?’

  ‘You’ve no authority over us!’

  ‘No right!’

  More angry voices added, ‘Why should we listen to you?’

  A deep baritone voice carried clearly across the crowd. ‘Because I said so.’

  Nicanor the carpenter, Curro’s elder brother, had arrived with his wife, Lucia, and their young son, Pio. Nicanor’s broad form towered over the crowd. His calm grey eyes bored into the troublemakers, challenging them. He carried an oblong chest made from a pale timber. The lid was meticulously inlaid with the carved head of a bear in a variety of wood. Its visage rose out of the timber slightly, its eyes, ears and the wave of its fur all accentuated by the ingenious use of different coloured wood.

  ‘Are you going to dump his chest in the river too? I doubt it,’ a caustic voice queried.

  ‘This chest is a fraction of the size of the one Daniel threw out. This chest contains my tools. The very tools I used to make ready this boat. It is an example of my work and will stand me in good stead when we reach Matryan. We have not brought any excess or unnecessary baggage.’ He took a deep breath, then continued sarcastically. ‘It would be tragic to all die at sea because we couldn’t fit enough supplies in, because we took someone’s china with us instead.’ How can you be so damn shallow? Nicanor silently fumed, running his hands through his sun bleached, sandy brown hair. ‘You only need those things necessary to survive and start a new life. Taking anything more is foolishness.’

  Grudgingly, they began re-sorting their belongings.

  Jaime grinned at Nicanor, whispering, ‘Now the real question is where is the barge? I’m not sure if even you can calm this lot if Isaura doesn’t arrive with the bloody boat soon.’

  Curro, who had been observing from the edge of the woods, chose that moment to step forward with Elena. Nervous, she instinctively moved to Lucia and Pio’s side. Curro, Jaime, Daniel and Nicanor entered the nearby mill and brought out their belongings from storage, all the while discretely listening to the bickering of the villagers, alert for any further escalation of tension amongst the group.

  Pio had seated himself at his mother’s feet and was absently playing his new wooden flute. Gradually his hesitant melody, the bleating of the milking goats, and the clucking of a few chickens were the only sounds to be heard. He looked up, acutely aware that his flute was unusually loud. Self-consciously he stopped, looking at the crowd of people gathered on the riverbank; standing, he reached for his mother’s hand. Lucia drew him close to her, placing her hand protectively on his head.

  ‘Where’s the boat?’

  ‘She’s late.’ People craned their necks from the end of the small jetty, fervently hoping to see the barge approach.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Shouldn’t trust her kind …’

  Nicanor again appeased the crowd. ‘Come, neighbours, be calm. We all know Isaura will be here. She’s probably had her hands full this morning. We all know what Hugo is like, don’t we?’

  ‘Gods, she’s not bringing him, is she?’

  As Nicanor spoke, the barge rounded the river bend. A gasp coursed through the crowd;
this was their first sight of it. The figurehead featured the graceful and muscular shoulders and neck of a horse poised and arched in play. The horse had large expressive eyes, slightly flaring nostrils and a full mane that was carved as if the wind was blowing its strands in graceful curves. The reflected light from the rippling water animated the carving to such an extent that its muscles appeared to move.

  Originally, the barge had been designed purely for carrying cargo on rivers, being long, wide and of a relatively shallow draught. A small low cabin and galley was located at the stern of the boat. There was also a series of oars along the sides, and a single mast with a square sail in the centre of the deck. A part of the tight space in the hold was fitted with special pens for small livestock, while the rest was to be taken up with barrels containing foodstuffs, grain and water. A section of the flat wide deck was covered with an awning.

  Manning the tiller was a lean young woman of dark complexion and hair. Isaura’s long hair was pulled back in a single braid; her green eyes missed no detail before her. She could see Curro and Nicanor waiting on the bank, Nicanor towering above his brother. Pio raced forward, waving at her excitedly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing up and down with the rest of him. Lucia quickly grabbed him, hauling him back from the river’s edge. Her long brown curly hair became disarrayed by her tussle with her son. Just behind them the small crowd of villagers were already jostling one another.

  Isaura smiled broadly, her eyes flashing reproach toward the crowd. ‘Bet you thought I’d never make it.’

  As the barge came alongside the jetty, she ran forward and threw the mooring lines to Curro. Trying to push the gangplank forward, her face reddened. ‘A little help wouldn’t go astray,’ she grumbled.

  Nicanor and Curro, grinning at her exertion, pulled the plank the rest of the way down with ease. Straightening up, she glared at them as she nimbly disembarked.

  ‘Hey,’ she croaked as first Curro, then Nicanor embraced her in a bear hug. ‘I can’t breathe.’ Nicanor let go, setting her back down.

  ‘What will your wife think?’ Isaura said with mock indignation.

  ‘His wife is just as glad to see you,’ said Lucia, who hugged her together with Pio.

  ‘Even you, Pio? I didn’t think you liked girls.’

  Pio stepped back, embarrassed. ‘You don’t count.’ Lucia looked horrified. Isaura laughed, delighted.

  Elena rushed forward, embracing her. Isaura stiffened, looking in surprise at an equally startled Lucia. She noticed Curro smiling happily at their encounter. Clueless, Isaura thought as she smiled back and returned Elena’s greeting.

  ‘I’m so relieved you’re here,’ Elena said, releasing her and stepping back. ‘We all are. We didn’t think you’d make it.’

  Isaura’s eyes narrowed briefly.

  Curro frowned at the slight, hunched, balding form of Hugo, prone on the deck. ‘Hugo?’ The old man’s chest rose and fell gently, while a quiet snore escaped the corner of his lips.

  Isaura’s expression became vacant. She shrugged.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Later. We have to go—now.’

  Curro and Nicanor stared at her.

  Isaura whispered, ‘I went up to Mt Majula. I could see the enemy in the distance. They were burning everything as they went. Their army is huge. I’ve never seen anything like it. Their scouts were in the woods. I barely escaped.’ She shuddered before continuing. ‘We need to hurry. You know how they reward their troops.’ Her concerned eyes surveyed the women and children on the shore.

  ‘Ma,’ Pio asked. ‘Are the soldiers here already?’

  ‘Hush, Pio,’ Lucia said hastily. It was too late.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘The enemy are here?’ The crowd began to press forward toward the barge. Isaura and her friends were the only things blocking their way.

  ‘Let us on.’

  ‘Get out of our way!’

  Curro rapidly unrolled a leather bundle, revealing several swords. Jaime and Daniel grabbed one each, while Isaura bounded on the deck and grabbed her bow. She stood behind them, targeting the crowd.

  Isaura let fly an arrow, striking the ground directly in the villagers’ path. ‘Stop!’ Her voice rang harshly across the crowd. She grinned wickedly while targeting them. ‘Don’t think I won’t shoot again. Look at what I did to my own father. Why would any of you fare any better?’

  The crowd halted.

  Lucia impulsively grabbed the remaining dagger and sword and stood next to her husband. Her chest felt tight, she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

  Nicanor had never seen such a fierce look in her eyes. She was struggling to hold the tip of the sword up. Softly he said, ‘Lucia, give me the sword.’ Fixated on the crowd, she didn’t hear him. ‘Lucia?’ Her eyes darted to him, the only sign that she’d heard him. He reached over. ‘I’m going to take the sword.’ Brusquely, she nodded, yet he struggled to remove her vice like grip from its hilt.

  ‘Don’t let them hurt Pio!’ she said vehemently as she waved the dagger at the crowd. Some of the villagers shrunk back in shame.

  Nicanor addressed them. ‘We mustn’t panic. If we work together, we’ll finish quickly and be gone. If you panic, people will die. Just stay calm, we will all leave as planned. Let’s load this boat—calmly. Curro, you and the others keep the peace.’

  Isaura climbed onto the cabin roof, using the vantage point to continue her watch. She hadn’t had this much fun since she was a child.

  Disgruntled murmurs rippled through the crowd. Curro delegated men to load the boat. ‘The rest of you—wait.’

  Isaura kept a wary eye on their movements. Two men lowered their goods to others below in the hold. A surreptitious look passed between them. One of them lunged at Jaime, knocking him to the deck. Instinctively Isaura targeted the man’s back, only altering her aim at the last second. Her arrow flew through the air. Its dull thunk was followed by an agonised roar. The second man froze as his friend rolled in pain, grasping at his thigh.

  Jaime leapt up, waving his sword. ‘Don’t move!’ He was stunned at the ease and precision with which Isaura responded.

  The injured man stared in shock at Isaura.

  ‘I warned you,’ she said, keeping her own surprise hidden. ‘Get on with it,’ her voice rang out. ‘Never forget I’m watching. Now move it!’

  Curro and Nicanor looked askance at each other, brows raised.

  Isaura remained at her post until the loading was finished. Amazing how fast they can move with the right motivation. Bitterness welled inside her. The Zaragarians would be proud of me. She jumped down to the deck as the villagers poured onto the barge.

  A woman pushed past them and ran to the still moaning man. She helped him half upright, glaring balefully at Isaura as she did so. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Clan bitch!’ The man spat at her.

  Isaura felt a knot form in her belly. Before she could respond, an arrow hit him square in the chest. ‘Zaragarians!’ she yelled. ‘Take cover!’

  The woman screamed as he fell sideways. Isaura shoved her flat. ‘You killed him!’ she accused, slapping and scratching Isaura.

  Isaura pressed the bow grip against her throat, pinning her down. An arrow thudded into the cabin wall behind them. The woman’s eyes widened in understanding. ‘Not me. You want to live? Shut up and stay down!’

  ‘Move!’ Nicanor shouted. He and Curro stood on the bank with their swords raised. A woman fell from the gangplank with an arrow in her back. The last of the passengers ran pell-mell onboard. More fell into the water as arrows struck them.

  Laughing, three scouts stepped into view from the tree line. ‘Dumb bastards.’

  Isaura sprang up. Heedless, she took aim at the nearest scout. With a savage look she felled him. ‘Who’re the dumb bastards now?’ she yelled at them, before loosing another arrow.

  ‘That bloody girl!’ a scout yelled.

  Got your attention, Isaura thought. Just
keep them busy, girl.

  Curro and Nicanor shared a knowing look as Nicanor released the mooring line. They heaved with all their might against the hull of the barge. The gangplank dropped into the river. Elena screamed.

  ‘Jump!’ Isaura shouted. Nicanor and Curro plunged into the water. Frantically, she let fly another arrow, hitting one scout in the shoulder. Two down.

  Everyone was sheltering behind the crates and possessions on deck. Isaura’s side of the deck was now clear. The archer was targeting just her. She ran. An arrow flew behind her, whisking her hair on its way past.

  ‘Get the damned sail up!’ she hollered. The barge was slowly drifting out into the current. Knowing the archer would find his mark soon, Isaura dropped to her belly. An arrow flew overhead. She peered through the railing. Where’s Nic and Curro? Another arrow hit the rail next to her head. She scrambled behind a crate.

  ‘Throw us a rope!’ Nicanor’s voice drifted up the side of the hull.

  ‘Nic?’ Jaime and Daniel crawled to the far rail and peered down.

  ‘Quick,’ Daniel said. They dropped the rope’s end over the side of the barge.

  Another arrow flew over Isaura’s head. Bastard!

  Nicanor’s head appeared at the edge of the deck. His eyes met hers. ‘Isa, no!’

  She stood up, aiming at where she thought the archer might be. She fired rapidly. She missed. Damn. Her next arrow merely nicked the scout.

  Nicanor hauled himself flat over the railing. Curro’s head appeared at the deck’s edge. Elena stood up to run to him. Terrified she would be killed, he flashed a pleading look to Isaura.

  ‘Shit.’ Isaura sprang forward and tackled Elena to the ground. Her bow skittered out of reach. ‘Stay down!’

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘You’ll get yourself killed. Stay down.’

  Curro scrambled over the rail to the safety of the deck.

  Elena glared at Isaura as she released her. ‘Always between us.’

  Isaura shook her head in disgust. She heard an arrow embed itself in the deck. Then another in the hull. She looked up. The sail was finally catching the wind. The sobbing of children filtered through the air. She looked back down at the families huddled around her. The barge was beginning to drift around the bend away from the village pier. No one was at the tiller. They needed to get into the main current—to the middle of the river. She peeked over the crate. Steeling herself, she ran hunched to the tiller and steered the boat further out. With each breath she waited for an arrow to strike her. None came.