Altaica

by Tracy M. Joyce

  Isaura straightened. ‘You can come out now,’ she said wearily.

  Hesitantly, people emerged from their hiding places. Dazed, they stared at the arrows sticking out of the deck.

  Nicanor strode over and embraced her. ‘Isa, thank you. You saved us.’ She nodded stiffly, saying nothing. He took the tiller from her.

  Strangely lethargic, Isaura asked, ‘How many did we lose?’

  ‘Three boarding. On deck, I don’t know.’

  She moved off, surveying the deck and checking a nearby body. Absently, she murmured, ‘Three more, including the one I shot and his wife.’

  Jaime walked to her side. ‘I can’t believe you could do that.’

  ‘You’d rather I hadn’t?’

  ‘Er, no. I just … I’m grateful, but …’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ she replied sardonically. ‘Help me retrieve these arrows.’

  ‘What?’ Jaime asked.

  ‘I want my arrows back and I want any others stuck in the deck.’

  ‘From the bodies?’ His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.

  ‘Yes.’ Observing his discomfort, she said, ‘I’ll get those. You get the ones out of the deck.’ Shocked, he nodded gratefully.

  Isaura tugged on the arrows. Stuck. She drew her knife and sliced down beside the arrow to free its head. Placing her foot against the body, she worked the arrows back and forth until she could pull them free, wincing at the slight sucking noise as they pulled clear. Casually, Isaura cleaned the tips on the clothes of the dead. She finished with the next body. Jaime hurried to her, handing her the arrows he’d collected. She put them in her quiver. It was then that Isaura realised that every eye on board seemed to be directed at her. She raised her chin proudly and refused to look away.

  ‘This is only the beginning. I don’t have an endless supply of arrows. We may need every one we can get before this is over.’

  Grimly, she stowed her bow and quiver in the cabin. Immediately she missed the feel of the smooth wood in her hand. She stared at her medical satchel. She’d never wanted to be a healer, but her fierce desire to pitch the satchel overboard stunned her. I didn’t even think to ask if anyone needed my help. How quickly I’ve broken the mould.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE BREEZE HAD died. The barge drifted slowly downstream for hours. The late afternoon sun beat down on the river, creating an oppressive, smothering heat. Willow tendrils rested languidly on the surface of the water, vaguely straying to the side with the gentle current. Not all the passengers were able to fit under the awning that had been rigged up on the deck, so they took turns in the shade, though there was still no escape from the heat.

  Upon dusk a gentle breeze relieved the heat, and began to swell the sail and hasten their trip down river. They saw no other boats.

  ‘You did the right thing earlier,’ Nicanor said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘They’re not used to seeing women fight, that’s all. It’s one thing for them to know you carry a bow to hunt, but another to see it used like that.’

  Hypocrites—the word was poised within Isaura, begging to be hurled at those around her.

  ‘You just surprised them. Everything will return to normal soon, you’ll see.’

  Isaura kept her eyes fixed firmly forward. I don’t want things the way they were.

  Nicanor cleared his throat and changed the topic. ‘What about Hugo?’

  Her expression was shuttered. ‘I succumbed to an overactive conscience.’

  ‘By drugging him?’

  ‘No, by bringing him.’ Isaura’s green eyes met Nicanor’s and he briefly saw her torment. ‘I wasn’t going to bring him. In truth, I hadn’t thought what I’d do. I suppose I thought I’d just have one final shouting match with him and go.’ She stared at Hugo’s sleeping form, her lips a thin line of disapproval. ‘He was going on so. About how we’d be fine if we stayed.’ She snorted. ‘All I could think about was that army and how he wouldn’t be fine. Then I thought of my mother and my conscience kicked me in the head.’ She let out an exasperated breath and put her head in her hands.

  Nicanor laughed. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘You’ve no idea.’

  Hugo muttered in his sleep. ‘No, no, no. Not the water, not the river … no.’

  Isaura shuddered as she listened to her father’s ramblings. ‘Damn,’ she groaned.

  ‘Isa, how bad is he going to be when he wakes up?’ Nicanor asked quietly.

  She didn’t answer directly. Instead, her voice took on a pleading tone. ‘Nic, I couldn’t leave him behind. He’s the only father I’ve ever known.’

  * * *

  At daybreak Curro was manning the tiller. The breeze had picked up overnight, filling the sail, and the barge was making brisk time. Elena handed him a mug of tea along with a wedge of bread and cheese. Frowning, she glanced up river. He followed her gaze, noticing a large dark cloudbank had formed over the region of Mt Majula.

  ‘Strange weather. The wind is from the wrong direction; the heat is insane. Storms almost never come in from the mountains, usually they go toward them. I don’t understand it. Curro, I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘You’re always right, dear, but you know that.’

  ‘Here I was thinking you weren’t listening.’ She swatted him playfully.

  ‘Stop worrying. What’s to understand? The gods are favouring us. This breeze sends us on our way more quickly.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Elena said doubtfully. ‘Should we pull into shore and wait it out?’

  ‘No. We’re safer on the river. The current should quicken when the Arunal river joins this and we might beat the storm,’ Curro replied.

  Within the next half hour the town of Arunal was visible. Plumes of smoke were rising from parts of it. The breeze shifted briefly and the acrid smell of smoke wafted toward them. Faint cries and screams could be heard, and people could be seen running in panic through the streets.

  Another barge, similar to theirs, was attempting to leave the river jetty. It was overcrowded with passengers and possessions. Burly armed men on the barge were trying to prevent more people from boarding as they hastily pushed off. They wore the uniforms of the city guard and were running those nearest through with swords, while three archers standing on the cabin picked off others in the milling crowd.

  The passengers were desperately attempting to man the oars in order to put more distance between themselves and the mass of people trying to board; however, the sheer number of people already on the boat hampered their efforts. There was simply no room to manoeuvre the oars into place quickly and they were still very close to the jetty. Passengers began throwing goods off the barge to make room to use the oars. Fighting broke out on the vessel as some people attempted to save their valuables. In the brawling, children and adults alike were knocked overboard. The air was filled with screams as those in the water struggled to regain the barge. Distraught mothers were leaning over the sides of the vessel, reaching out to their children in the water. Many jumped into the river to save their little ones. All the while, yet more people crowded down the jetty.

  There was a resounding crack as the pylons gave way. The water was filled with frenzied people, each intent on reaching the barge at all costs. Some oars were now successfully in their locks, but the oarsmen’s efforts were in vain, for many people had reached the boats and were clinging to the oars. Their weight caused the oar locks to tear away from the timber. Unable to maintain their grip, the oarsmen let them float free.

  The archers, who had been shooting many of the mob before they got too close to the boat, had spent their arrows. Swordsmen were frantically stabbing those who tried to clamber onboard. Daggers sliced through throats, covering the defenders and the sides of the boat in crimson spray. For each one killed, another took his place or managed to board. The guards were overwhelmed and run through with their own weapons. Their bodies were casually pushed into the river.

  Multitudes of panic-stricken people were attem
pting to board the boat simultaneously, causing it to ride lower in the water on one side. With an aberrantly slow motion, the barge capsized. Briefly, the chaos escalated. Soon those in the water who had tried to rescue loved ones were tiring. The weight of their clothes, or the battle to calm and hold the one they rescued, was taking its toll. Some had made it back to shore, but others, with looks of fatalistic despair, lost their battles and disappeared beneath the waters. Some were trying to clamber onto the hull, but the boat was slowly sinking.

  Lucia looked anxiously at Nicanor as Pio climbed into her lap.

  ‘We can do nothing,’ he said. ‘We have no more room. Even if we did try to help they may swamp our boat and then all would be lost. Try not to look.’

  Jaime and Daniel obviously wanted to help. Nicanor reached forward, clasping their forearms and shaking his head firmly. They subsided, yet the tears in their eyes clearly betrayed their distress.

  Curro resolutely held the tiller, his face strained, his knuckles white as he stared at the chaos before them. Elena stood beside him, her face pressed into his shoulder to hide from the horrors before her.

  ‘Is the enemy here already?’ Elena murmured.

  Isaura looked away, sickened by the chaos. Her face like granite, she replied, ‘No. This is their own fault. Just like panicked animals.’

  Elena glared at her, shocked. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘How can you watch this and not know it?’

  Elena, annoyed at the rebuke, was ready with a retort but Curro cut her off. ‘Don’t, Leni.’ She glared at him. ‘I know what you are going to say—don’t.’

  Red faced, she turned from Isaura and hugged Curro tightly. Still Isaura heard her say, ‘Look at her—she’s Hill Clan. Even the Matyrani don’t like them, yet you defend her. You and Nic have always defended her.’

  Nicanor leaned toward Isaura and whispered, ‘Don’t worry about Leni, Isa.’

  ‘I never do,’ was her too loud, too bright reply.

  Just as they had reached the point where the two river currents merged, the breeze picked up again; quickly the barge left the city view behind. The smoke and screams faded with distance, leaving the river eerily quiet. They passed many smaller boats with one or two people on board, who seemed to have left in haste with no supplies. Their faces lacked all animation.

  The sight of Arunal burning, the smell and the screams were etched in the villager’s minds. Children clung sobbing to their mothers and fathers as their parents tried to soothe them. Pio was sitting on Lucia’s knee, his eyes red and swollen. She rubbed his back gently and eased him into the crook of her arm, crooning to him and rocking him like he was a baby again. She felt sickened by what she had seen; it was taking all her will power to maintain a strong front. Lucia could vaguely hear Nicanor near her talking quietly to Jaime and Daniel and felt a wild need to feel his strong arms securely around her; to have him reassure her that they were safe, that he could protect them. Losing her battle, she began shaking uncontrollably.

  Isaura leaned down at her shoulder. ‘Lucia. Lucia?’

  Lucia vaguely heard a noise. Isaura’s face was level with hers. She was speaking to her—at least her lips were moving, but Lucia couldn’t decipher her words. She shook her head, blinking rapidly, but it made no difference. Her vision took on an amber hue and she lost all focus.

  Isaura caught her and lowered her to the deck. She bade Pio to sit near her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Isa?’ His eyes were wide as he gazed at his mother.

  ‘It’s alright, Pio. She’s fainted—that’s all. She’ll be fine.’ She rubbed Lucia’s hands, continuing to speak to her. Soon Lucia’s eyes began to open and focus.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You fainted,’ Isaura said softly.

  Lucia looked embarrassed. ‘Oh, I feel like such a fool!’

  Isaura shrugged. ‘No shame in it.’

  Lucia felt strong hands around her shoulders as she sat up. Nicanor cradled her back in his arms. ‘I’m alright Nic. I just feel like an idiot.’ Pio snuggled in next to her.

  Isaura left the family alone and quietly went to check on the others.

  ‘How does she stay so calm?’ Lucia asked Nicanor. ‘For a girl who didn’t want to be a healer, she’s certainly convincing.’

  ‘She’s not calm, not really. Her mother taught her well. But we both know that’s not enough for her—she’s too restless.’

  Lucia smiled. ‘She just needs to find the right man, settle down and start a family.’

  Nicanor laughed. ‘I’m not sure that would work and I wouldn’t mention it if I were you. I can’t see a life of quiet domestic bliss suiting her.’

  Lucia looked probingly at Nicanor. ‘We taught her to fight when we were children. She even persuaded Curro to teach her what he knows about swordsmanship. The archery, she did that all on her own,’ he added proudly.

  Lucia looked horrified as she lowered her voice. ‘You what? The archery she might have been able to get away with for hunting, but you saw how people looked at her after the fight.’

  ‘She saved us.’

  ‘Yes, but it singled her out as different. She doesn’t need that. She already looks different. They don’t need reminding of it.’

  ‘You’re not making sense. What would you have her do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lucia sighed. ‘You know what would happen to her if the authorities found out. It’s illegal for women to learn skill at arms.’

  ‘Lucia, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. What were we supposed to do? She was always in trouble as a child and we weren’t always there to protect her.’

  ‘What, so you thought you’d teach her to kill people?’ she hissed. ‘She’s a healer, she’s not supposed to kill people.’ She gasped, surprised at herself. She looked around quickly, hoping no one overhead them.

  ‘Thank the gods she did. Lucia, she only has Hugo as a father. She travels miles on her own visiting the sick and collecting ingredients. She has to know how to defend herself.’ His voice grew a little more indignant as he added, ‘It doesn’t matter now, we’re leaving.’

  * * *

  Isaura walked back toward the cabin, weaving between the villagers. Hugo’s sleeping form was exactly where she’d dumped him. ‘Father?’ She gently shook him. ‘Father?’

  ‘Mmm,’ came the groggy reply.

  She shook him harder. ‘Father!’

  ‘What … Isaura? I was having a delightful dream. I felt like I was floating on the breeze.’

  ‘Open your eyes and stay calm.’ Hugo sat bolt upright, blinking rapidly and shading his eyes. Isaura grimaced as she said, ‘You are floating—on a river.’

  Hugo’s eyes widened, he scrambled back against the cabin wall, tucked his knees to his chest and rocked back and forth. His breathing became more rapid; he spoke in gasps. ‘You, you did this. You drugged me!’

  ‘I couldn’t leave you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yes, you could! I made it clear I did not want to come. Nor should you. I am a gifted healer. I would have been safe. My reputation is well known. My services would have been sought by our new rulers … by the army. There will be so many wounded—there would have been great need for my services. I would have been safe. You would too, Isaura—you have enough skill to be useful.’

  Isaura refrained from shaking her head in wonder at how deep his delusions ran. She didn’t want to aggravate the situation. ‘Father, the Zaragaria would have their own healers.’ You never leave home, she silently derided him. How on earth would anyone know your skill, or lack of it? His eyes darted about the boat. She put her finger under his chin, drawing his face and attention back toward her. ‘Besides, you’ve no guarantee they would not have killed us both for sport.’

  Hugo continued on unabashed. ‘Nonsense girl! They would have had great difficulty in finding our home tucked away as we were in the woods.’

  ‘Father,’ Isaura replied, trying to remain calm and relax her clenched teeth. ‘The morning
we left they were entering the other side of woods. Most likely they would have found us.’ She sighed. ‘We’ve been over all this before.’

  ‘You should not have brought me,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘Do you want anything? A drink, or some food?’

  ‘I am rather thirsty. Yes, I’ll have a drink.’ He sipped delicately at the offered water.

  ‘Do you want to stand? Stretch your limbs and walk about?’

  ‘Walk about!’ he cried. ‘It will take all my nerve just to stand, you foolish girl.’

  Isaura was losing patience. ‘It might not be as bad as you think. Standing will be good for your limbs. You can lean against the cabin and me.’

  He muttered unintelligibly, yet held out his arm for Isaura to assist him. Rising stiffly, holding fast to Isaura’s arm, he breathed deeply. ‘Ah … yes … not so bad.’

  ‘Father, open your eyes.’ As he did so, he dug his fingers painfully into Isaura’s arm and shoulder. She winced, but said nothing.

  Hugo focused on the riverbank, noticing the trees seeming to pass quite rapidly. Reluctantly, he looked along the barge to the prow. ‘So many people, Isaura. It’s so crowded. There’s not enough room,’ he whispered in panic. He looked at the expanse of the river, listening to the water as it rippled along the hull. ‘Oh my! Isaura, it’s so wide. There is so much water.’ Hugo’s skin had grown pale and clammy. ‘Isaura … I feel ill. You should not have brought me,’ he whispered, burying his face in his hands as he sunk to the deck.

  ‘Father—’ Platitudes were useless, though she felt she should try. Instead, she said bluntly, ‘If you are going to be sick, you’ll have to hang your head over the side. No one wants to clean up after you.’