Medieval Rain

by J. D. Sonne

  Although her mother had been quite clinical in her explanation, the punishment sounded pretty lurid, and Rane understood why Tollichet had been less than forthcoming. She did not say if she had been involved in administering it herself but from her obvious discomfort, Rane supposed that she had. Rane shook her head dismally. Her suggestion of a damned wilding had ingratiated her to her sister but had put the men in terrible danger. Rane could only hope that she would be able to free them on the march.

  Groggy in the extreme, even among this miasma of troubling thoughts, she almost didn't hear the faint scratching that seemed to originate at the far wall of the tent. She immediately looked over at the sleeping forms of her mother and sister and was startled to discover empty cots. She was the only one in the tent. She must have fallen back asleep, the light outside indicating early dawn. The scratching intensified and she heard a muted rendition of her name.

  “Rane,” the voice whispered. Then more urgent, “Rane!”

  She lightly ran to the rippling canvas, lifted it and to her astonishment, she saw the grubby face of Shad emerge. A wide smile appeared in the middle of the dirt crust.

  Looking behind her to make sure the tent flap was completely closed, Rane grabbed the shoulder of the female and dragged her into the tent. Lifting Shad to her feet, Rane pulled her into a bear hug that almost forced the air from their lungs, leaving them gasping in silent laughter.

  “Shad!” Rane breathed. “I am so glad you are alive! How did you--”

  “Many of us were able to escape into the wood. Some of our scouts saw them approach, but they were so close that we couldn't warn those at the edge of camp.”

  Grimly, Rane thought of Loward and her children.

  “You've got to leave, and now!” Rane hissed. My mother and sister will be back at any moment. I am so glad you got away!”

  “They did catch Landman, Bruse, and Chuan. But Scout! I think he is dead,” Shad said, and for the first time, Rane saw that rivulets of tears had furrowed the dirt on her cheeks. “I saw a Lead kill Scout when he stayed behind with the others so that more of us could escape. What is going to happen to them?”

  “Nothing if I can help it!” Rane said fiercely. “Now go! They gave themselves for you—don't squander their gift!”

  Shad threw her arms around Rane and said, “I will never forget you, Lead Rane! You have taught me who I am and who I can be! Much love to you!”

  “And much to you!” Rane said, surprised at the tears running down her face. “I will never forget you, and if I have anything to say or do about it, we will meet again!”

  A final blink from Shad, and she was gone, having slithered beneath the canvas, a faint undulation the only evidence of the visit.

  Suddenly, she noticed that dawn had fully arrived, throwing its luminous cast into the tent, and she also figured out why her mother and sister were absent: it was time to depart. Voices called to each other in their preparations for leave-taking, cheerful in the notion that they were returning home, their quarry captured, their Lead rescued. All her mental acrobatics were for naught, because she was too late. Too late to escape with her new life; too late to save her friends; and too late to avoid resuming her old life. Soon her mother would rouse her for the return. There would be no escape for the viruls. At least, not now.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Tree! Oh, Tree! You brought him! I can't believe you brought my horse!”

  Pressing her forehead against his, she wept for a moment, then embraced his neck and swung up on the saddle. She laid her cheek against his withers and dangled her arms down his shoulders allowing herself to revel in his rustic smell. A faint fragrance of meadow mixed with horse hide filled her nostrils and she wept again as memory after memory took her galloping with him over the hills of Maraquan. She extended her hand to her mother and said, “Thank you. Oh, thank you!”

  Tollichet obeyed the beckon, grasping Rane's hand. “We brought him upon a wish,” she said, stroking the horse's flank, “hoping you would be in a condition to ride, hoping against hope that you were even alive. It seemed it worked!” And with concern in her voice she asked, “Are you sure you are ready to ride? You look awfully thin.”

  “My skinny rump is better for him!” Rane said and gently flapped at the reins, leaning forward to urge him on.

  Rane’s sorrow at the invasion diminished somewhat with the thrill of privilege that raced through her veins as she gave Treefall his head and galloped off a little ways from the group.

  “Rane!” her mother cried. “We are ready to go. I don't want you roaming these woods! We were not able to catch all of them. Some renegades may still be close by. Come back!”

  Obeying her mother, her words filling Rane with an ambivalent chill, she cantered Treefall back to the group and stood her mount as she watched the preparations. She would have liked to go back to the waterwork to see if her rescuers had destroyed it, but didn't dare. For all of Shad's words of encouragement in the tent a few moments before, she wasn't sure if she would be safe with the other survivors in the woods. Perhaps Shad would be the only one who would not hate Rane, reasoning that her rescue was responsible for the destruction of their village and families, however illicit they were viewed by Maraquan law.

  Then her sister and the securities led out the prisoners, their every limb thoroughly fettered in iron shackles. Chains secured the shackles to their necks and to each other. She almost wondered if the wilding had already occurred, they were so bloody, but no, she reminded herself, they would not be able to walk. She did notice that every captive had bandages, so the healers must have had access to the men according to her suggestion. But their condition was so pitiable that she gleaned no satisfaction from that fact. She tried not to scrutinize them too closely, so as to not attract any suspicion that she had any feelings for these viruls, but Landman must have had his leg set, for he was stumping along, in great pain of course, but at least he was on his feet. Rane hoped they would be able to ride in a cart, but Titled Larad may make good her scoff of a conveyance for the viruls.

  What little joy she had gleaned from seeing her mother and riding her horse had by now dissipated, but sitting her mount stoically, she shrugged to herself to control the rising panic she felt, sure that a sob would escape her throat if she didn't grab hold of her emotions. Then something horrible happened. Landman looked at her. His gaze caught Rane’s, and she found she could not look away. Her eyes filled and she almost turned her head, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was a memory, perhaps it was a feeling; when she thought on it later, she was hard pressed to remember what it was. But she was glad for whatever it was that kept her eyes on his because his kind gaze, the stoic nod of his head and the firm set of his mouth told her everything she needed to know. He understood. He understood everything. Of course, she would be planning an escape. Of course, they were still together. The fact that they had had a disagreement before the rescue changed nothing. She even sensed that he and the other men were working on a plan and that she would be a part of it when the time came.

  She lifted her eyebrows slightly to respond, not daring to do more. He seemed satisfied, for he dropped his head and returned to captive posture. He did not look at her again. That is not to say that the rest of the prisoners ignored her. Chuan gave her a stare of absolute misery, the wounds on his body seeming slight in comparison to his hurt psyche.

  Then there was Bruse. Rane was surprised at the look of unadulterated hatred on his face. She and Bruse had developed a connection so close that she thought of him as a brother, for all that until she recognized Chuan, she had no idea how a real brother would feel. Her own brothers, including Chuan, had just been viruls and other than a few childhood interactions, she had had little to do with them. But Bruse was different. Her love for him was different from that she felt for Landman, but no less intense. Now Bruse’s loathing felt so pointed, so pronounced, that she actually looked down at her chest, almost expecting to see a protruding arrow. He probably thought
she had actively orchestrated the rescue (although how was a mystery), that she likely told her Leads and Titleds to not only shred the community but to kill all of its members, too. As if the rescue party would need any urging from her or anyone else to administer a brutal punishment to a settlement of heretic viruls. She returned his look (it was almost as if he had become Scout) but quelled her hurt and gave no indication of hate, or anything else, for that matter.

  Her mother walked over to the prisoners, her hands clasped behind her as if she were a commander inspecting her troops. Her face impassive, she seemed to be assessing their strength for some reason. The prisoners kept their heads down, except one. Chuan's face was raised, his eyes open in a kind of horrified surprise. Rane couldn't hear what he said, and she couldn't see her mother's expression as her back was to Rane, but the rigidity in her mother’s stance gave Rane little doubt what was transpiring between them.

  Immediately Rane slid off the horse and shoved the reins to her sister who started to protest until she saw the grim set of her face. Not wanting to attract attention, she crept quietly toward the group of prisoners and stood behind her mother and attempted to keep her face calm as the truth of Chuan’s identity was unfolding--the truth that she had discovered during the climb on the crystal rock.

  “—yes, I thought that was you, Mother,” Chuan was saying amid a broad smirk that was surfacing on his face. “I doubt it will look good for you when the sector finds out that your son was among the renegade viruls.”

  Rane realized that this was an opportunity to throw any future suspicion away from her. “Is it Chun? Chun—Chuan! How could I have been so stupid! It is you!”

  She felt rather than saw the looks of the Titleds and Leads that were now surrounding the reunion scene and decided to play her ruse to the hilt.

  She saw the wound on his shoulder and leaned as closely as she dared and whispered, “I'm sorry,” before she slammed her hand against the injury and viced her fingers together with the result that Chuan yelled in pain. She could have squeezed much harder, but his shriek was convincing enough that the playacting worked. “Yes, if I had known it was you, you would not still be alive but moldering in the understory now! Stupid brother! Fleer! Idiot!” She turned to her mother and made her anger as ugly as she could and hissed, “Let me kill him now, mother! He was the cruelest of all!”

  Tollichet stooped down, grabbed Rane by the bicep and lifted her away from Chuan whose face was white from shock from the trauma to his wound and Rane’s cruelty. “Calm yourself, daughter! We will deal with all of them soon enough--perhaps you can be part of the procedure. We will have to see. For now, mount your horse,” and to all of them, “Let us depart now. Bring the cart here and load the prisoners. We do not want to be slowed by their injuries. First column of scouts, set out!”

  Rane, relief flooding her that the prisoners would indeed have access to a cart, watched as Shukad and her security detail formed up and made its way out of the camp, acting as the front wedge in case other marauders threatened. The cart with the prisoners followed directly behind them with the second column of scouts forming a phalanx surrounding the cart. Since Rane was the only one mounted, she should have brought up the rear to keep the horse dust from infecting those on the march. Instead, she was relegated to mid march with her mother and the other Titleds trailing, her mother probably worried that she might be snatched away by renegades.

  As they started out, Rane had to admit that this journey was going to be much more pleasant than the one that got her here. But for all her personal comforts, being mounted, having a cot, a warm tent and a personal virul--for her mother had allowed squirrel to accompany the rescue party—her mental state was anything but a source of pleasure. At least her position in the march allowed her an unobstructed view of the prisoners in their cart, but the miserable looks on their faces neutralized any joy she might have experienced at the constant visual contact with Landman and her brother.

  Chun—Chuan. In the cart, he sat hunched over, his shoulders slumped in total defeat for all his defiant words to his erstwhile mother. She was amazed that it had taken a flashback memory to pique her knowledge of his identity. Now that the past and the present were meshed, she recognized the obvious thread that joined his youth to his current self. She did remember him as a slight, cute baby that she sometimes played with and who followed her around, but despite her warm memories, she didn't remember forming any particular attachment to him, as that was not the norm between Leads and brothers.

  “So, Lead Rane,” squirrel said, panting to keep up with the cantering Treefall, “is it true what they say?”

  Rane sighed. Apparently squirrel was just as oblique in his queries as she remembered. “And what did they say, squirrel?”

  Her tone must have been somewhat impatient, because he paused, seeming to rework the question he had in mind. “Is it true that females and viruls lived as equals in the slum?”

  “The slum?” Rane asked, thinking the term was a little odd. “What do you mean?” She thought for a split second and went on, “Is that what they have been calling the camp? A slum?”

  “Yes,” squirrel said rushing over the word, showing his disinterest, “And they said that everyone was equal.”

  “How can that be possible?” Rane asked and hoped the question sounded rhetorical, “Females and viruls cannot be nor never will be equals! You are talking nonsense! Now shut up.”

  “Well, I missed you too, Lead Rane!” Squirrel said petulantly.

  Rane did not answer and was glad squirrel was as annoying as she remembered, a conversation-killer. She was not interested in guarding her words, and silence seemed to be the best method to keep her erratic emotions concealed.

  When she looked up from her exchange with squirrel, she saw Landman looking at her, a slight smile on his face. A warmth filled her core and she vowed that she would find a way to talk to him so that they could plan an escape, together if possible.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Three tides and they would be home. Three lonely tides, the water eddying in and out of the pristine coves, bays, harbors and myriad lakefronts of her world, the time passing with each drop of the massive resource that was the Queen of Maraquan. The water fed the lovely ground and the resulting storied growth in its green leaves and strange hues of flowering life made a home full of lavish wonder for the inhabitants of the planet. But the tides, they usually ran slow, the prodigious waters taking their time consuming the land, then releasing it as they wished.

  But Rane did not feel the sluggishness of the tide; for her the waters fueled the race of time like a rushing waterwheel. Already two days, two tides, and she had not had a chance to even approach the prisoners. She had hoped to do so during the heaviness of night when sleep overtook the camp. She had even crept out of her tent, pretending she was going to the edge of the tents to make water but with the full intention of crawling to the shackled prisoners. Perhaps she could lie among them and whisper out her plan which she had been shaping since the march began. If Bruse would let her, that is. Her waking nightmare took the form of his calling out to the guard and exposing her as a traitor. She wasn't sure how far his hatred of her would go; it very well could be that he would relish the chance to take her down with them, even though she would be offering them a chance to escape.

  It was their last night on the road and Rane's last chance to talk to Landman and the rest of the prisoners. Once the march arrived at their sector, the captives would be locked away and it would be harder for Rane to get to them. She could probably use her influence to gain access to their cell, but it would look very suspicious if she asked to see those who had kidnapped her. Already, Tollichet seemed suspicious of her, eyeing her every glance and movement regarding the prisoners. And if that suspicion caught on with Shukad, Rane knew full well that her sister would relish labeling her as a co-conspirator or traitor even more than Scout would. Rane didn't have many enemies, but those she had were very dangerous, indeed.

&nb
sp; When the time came to pitch camp, the Leads and Titleds had built a raging bonfire and were enjoying its effects against the night sky, the pulsing flames seeming to lick the stars in all their lusty violence. They fed it with the plentiful scatterings of dry willows sticks and heaps of tree branches strewn about in what seemed to be a kill zone of nature.

  Rane sat with her fellow Leads, next to Saruah, listening to the Titleds as they recounted various victories of war, politic and personal vendetta. Before the kidnap, she would have been at the center of discussion, pushing her opinions into the fray, thrusting her thoughts into the ears of those around her. Tonight, she said nothing and heard nothing except her own veins rushing with anxiety, as she willed her body to rise and use the blinding firelight as a cover for a visit to the prisoners.

  “I have to go make water!” She suddenly said to Saruah and the others, to their surprise and especially hers. It was as if her body was a slave to her voice and rose in obedience.

  “Do you want us to make an announcement?” Shukad said derisively leaning across Saruah, “or do you need an attendant to wipe your arse?”

  “Certainly, Shukad,” Rane said sweetly, “Why don't you come along? You are infinitely qualified.

  Smiling, she retreated to yells at laughter, made more dulcet that they were at her sister's expense. She rubbed her eyes, blinded and unaccustomed to the forested night around her and crept to the latrine and without parting her drawers actually sat on a log for a few moments. After making certain no one had followed her, she crept around the back of the pit to where the prisoners were staked and hoped that perhaps the guards were absent or asleep. The odds of either happenstance were low, but she decided to hope.