“You get the fire going,” Hunter said. “I need to start fishing before we lose the light. Otherwise no dinner for us.”
Nessa found herself saying, “Okay,” and Hunter bounded away, heading for the river. She sat, staring after him, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. Lighting the bloody fire was his job, damn it. She had never used a firesteel before, had never needed to. She picked up the fire pouch and pulled out a pinch of tinder, deciding to mimic what Hunter usually did, and set it in a small mound of dry leaves. Then, holding the firesteel, she wished desperately for some matches.
Working from memory, she copied Hunter’s actions, running the blade sharply against the steel. Nothing, not even one goddamn spark. The tinder sat unsmoldering, mocking her lack of success.
Nessa tried again and again, and it became a matter of pride. Over her dead body would she be defeated by a fire, or lack thereof. Frustration finally won out, and she struck the firesteel angrily. Sparks flew, igniting the tinder in a glorious display. Hurriedly, she scooped up the burning bundle, blowing gently on it until small flames took hold. Then, before it burnt her hands, she placed it by the firewood, feeding it twigs until it grew big enough to handle the larger branches.
Nessa tended to it, making sure that it had plenty of wood to last for a spell, then went off in search of Hunter, giving Betty a quick pat as she passed. She found Hunter on the river’s bank a short distance away, fishing line already deployed, and sat down next to him. He looked over at her, frowning a little.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You’re looking a little flustered.”
Nessa waved a hand. “I’m fine. The fire’s all sorted.”
“That’s good,” Hunter said slowly. “Didn’t have any problems then?”
“None whatsoever.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It must have been the wind and the trees swearing with great gusto a few minutes ago, then.”
“It must have been.”
“Hmm.” Hunter turned back to fishing, lips twitching with a poorly suppressed grin.
Nessa grumbled under her breath, adding a few more select words to those of the wind and trees.
They relaxed into a comfortable silence, and Nessa watched as the sun slowly set, turning the sky pink and orange. It dipped behind the trees and the warmth gradually left the air. Nessa shivered from the cold breeze that blew in from across the river, and she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees.
Hunter reeled in the fishing line, winding it around a small piece of wood, and checked that the worm was still on the hook. Satisfied, he cast it out again, sending the hook and the unfortunate worm flying. A gust of wind caught it, sending it further downstream than originally intended, and loosened Nessa’s hair, blowing it across her face. She gathered it back and tied it into a loose ponytail, but strands still came free, going in her eyes and mouth. She had lost her hair bobble upon arrival and had since been tying it back with a strip of cloth, which just wasn’t up to scratch.
“Here,” Hunter said, seeing Nessa struggling and handing something to her.
Nessa held it in her hand, finding that he had given her a hair clip. It was old and tarnished, but she was fairly sure that it was solid silver. He must have picked it up from the village without her noticing.
“My sister had hair as long as yours, although it was darker in colour,” he said. “She had always said that hair ribbons were a waste of time and that you had to have a decent hair clip. Otherwise, you’d spend all day worrying about what your hair was doing and fussing with it.”
Nessa was taken back, somewhat surprised that he had been so thoughtful. Then his words sunk in. Sister? Hunter has a sister? A second later she realised that he was using the past tense, and Nessa had to correct herself. Hunter had a sister, one who was no more.
There were so many things that Nessa could say, words of condolences, questions. But the sad, tender expression on his face as he gazed ahead, reminiscing about days gone by, made her settle with a simple and quiet, “Thank you.”
Hunter nodded, reeling in his fishing line and then casting it out again.
For a time, the fish were reluctant to bite, but when the sun sank beneath the horizon, dinner was quickly procured. Hunter caught several fish, a pale trout of some kind, their iridescent scales glinting in the dying light. Hunter informed her that they were called Moonies, named such due to their colouring and because they were mostly active once the sun went down.
“They’ll taste fantastic when I’m finished with them,” Hunter reassured her, seeing her inspecting them with a critical eye.
“I’ll be holding you to your word.”
“That sounds like a challenge,” Hunter said, grinning. He stood, offering Nessa a hand up, and gathered his catch, taking it back to their campsite, where the trees and the fire beckoned to them with the promise of warmth and some shelter.
As soon as they entered their camp, they instantly realised that something was wrong.
The fire burned with more enthusiasm than it should after an hour of neglect, highlighting the fact that Betty was nowhere in sight, and that their bags had been ransacked, their belongings scattered all over the place.
Nessa’s eyes landed on her messenger bag, finding it empty, deflated without the orb filling it. She felt a peculiar level of horror at discovering it gone, which only grew when she could see no sign of it amongst the mess.
“My orb’s gone,” Nessa whispered.
“Margret’s horse is gone,” Hunter said, face growing pale.
“Indeed it is,” a gruff voice remarked, “and it will fetch me a pretty penny at market too.”
A man stepped out from behind one of the oaks, big and rough looking, with a bald head that shone in the flickering light and a large nose that cast a long shadow across his face.
Held carelessly in his hand was Nessa’s orb, glowing with soft purple light.
Without thinking, Nessa started forward, intending to snatch it back. Hunter stopped her with a firm hand on her arm, pulling her back. He shook his head, eyes never leaving the man in front of them.
“Bandit,” he muttered in warning to her.
Nessa forgot her frustration when three other men stepped out from the darkness, moving to flank their leader, each of them holding a weapon, either a club or a knife. Grouped together as they were, Nessa recognised them.
“They’re the men from the village square,” Nessa murmured. “The ones asleep outside the alehouse.”
Hunter nodded, his hand tightening on her arm, eyes darting from man to man, taking their measure.
The leader shifted, leaning back against the tree, and played with the orb, bouncing it from hand to hand. Nessa grew angry at his arrogance, and her hands clenched into fists, wanting to drive them into his gut as hard as she could.
How dare he follow them, rob them, handle her orb in such a callous way. How dare he!
“What a pretty thing,” the man said, holding it up, making Nessa’s blood boil. “Odd that two people such as yourselves would have such a fine thing with them. Has a whiff of magic about it, doesn’t it? Steal it, did we?” The man smirked.
“You’d know all about stealing, wouldn’t you?” Hunter growled.
“That I would,” the man agreed. “Now tell me, where’d you came by it and my men won’t break your legs. It is a rare thing, pretty and unique. I want to know all about it to get a good price, you see? Now spill.”
Hunter stepped in front of Nessa. “We know nothing about the orb,” he said. “Now give me back my horse and leave us be.”
“Leave us be, he says” the man laughed, an ugly sound. “How very rude.” The men behind him grumbled in agreement. “What’s your name, boy? Mine’s Grover. I wish to know yours.”
“No one of consequence,” Hunter answered, much to Grover’s displeasure.
“I think you’ve pissed him off,” Nessa whispered to Hunter, watching Grover’s face flu
sh a ruddy red.
“I do believe I have.” Hunter shifted his stance and dropped all the fish to the ground but one, holding it tightly by its tail. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, “and let me deal with this.”
“Yes master,” she grumbled at his back.
“Enough of your whispers!” Grover bellowed. “Lads, teach the boy some manners.”
One of the men stepped around Grover, twirling a large metal bar, grinning eagerly. “With pleasure.”
Without warning, Hunter leapt forward, meeting the man in the centre of the campsite. Nessa’s silent question of why he was armed with a dead trout was answered a second later when it hit the man right in the face at high speed. The slap was loud, and judging by the man’s expression, painful. Stunned, he didn’t notice Hunter move, not until Hunter’s kick landed solidly in the fork of his legs.
The man’s eyes bugged out of his head and his metal bar fell to the ground from limp fingers. Everyone watched with morbid fascination as the man’s face turned an alarming shade of pink, then a bloodless white. He collapsed, curling into a ball, gasping for breath.
There was a moment of shocked silence, then, with loud shouts, the other two men rushed forward, weapons raised. Hunter flung the trout, forcing one of them to duck, and lashed out at the second with a kick that hit them in the gut. The first recovered, only to have one of Hunter’s fists smash against his nose. Blood sprayed and the man went down. He stayed down.
Nessa flinched, unnerved by the violence, and across from her, she saw Grover scowl. With a mocking wave at her, he retreated back into the trees, taking her orb with him.
“Oh no you don’t,” Nessa snarled, starting after him, pausing only long enough to grab a heavy branch.
She chased after him, ignoring the voice that told her it might be a bad idea, instead following the faint purple glow that was just ahead of her, calling to her. Grover made it out of the woods before Nessa caught up with him, striding out onto the grasslands. Nessa paused at the edge of the tree line, wondering what she should do now. She’d never fought a man or attacked someone before, and found herself in new and uncertain territory.
Without the hindrance of roots and trunks, the distance between them quickly grew. Nessa was forced to act, else she faced losing her orb forever. She rushed after him, the grass whispering beneath her feet. Grover stilled, looking over his shoulder, the orb haloing him in subdued light.
“Stick? Ray?” he called. “Is that you?”
“No,” Nessa said, stepping into the ring of purple-hued illumination. “I’m afraid Hunter’s keeping them busy at the moment. It’s just me.”
Grover snickered, not seeing her as a threat. “Aww, love, did the scuffle scare you? Come for a hug, did we?”
She ignored his comment, eyeing the orb in his hand. Her orb. “That’s mine,” she said, pointing her branch at it, “and I want it back.”
“It don’t work like that, love.” He hefted it up to eye level, taunting her. “It’s mine now. And pretty though you are, I don’t give things away for free.”
“It’s mine,” Nessa argued, “and you will be giving it back.”
“That sounds awfully like a threat, love.”
“No, it’s a fact.” Or maybe a promise. Grover didn’t see it, but Nessa did. The shadow was back, moving within the orb, scratching at the surface. There was no warning. Nothing save a bright pulse of light. Then Grover started screaming… and screaming… and screaming. It was a sound of utter agony, and it echoed on the grassland’s hills for miles around. He fell to the ground, convulsing, his hands shaking, trying to dislodge the orb that seemed glued to his skin.
It was burning him, Nessa saw, turning his hands red and blistered and bloody. The orb blazed with blinding light, showing Grover’s tortured face. His screams grew in ferocity. It was a horrible thing to see, a terrible thing, to witness someone in such pain. Nessa couldn’t bare it. Before she knew what she was doing, the branch was cracking across Grover’s head, making the screaming abruptly stop as he went limp.
The orb slid from his grasp, rolling in the grass before coming to a stop by Nessa’s feet. She stared, alarmed, both by the fact that she had hit someone, and by what the orb was capable of doing.
Then she saw Grover’s crumpled body laying on the ground, and the gravity of what just happened snapped her back into action.
“Shit,” Nessa muttered, flinging aside the branch and kneeling beside Grover. “Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.” Cautiously, she pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. She found a steady beat.
With a relieved sigh, she stood, dusting off her hands like she had touched something dirty. “You’re a horrible man,” she informed Grover’s unconscious body, “but I’m glad I didn’t kill you. Although, judging by the lump on your head and the bloody mess of your hands, I’m willing to bet that you’ll wish I had when you wake up.”
Beside her, the orb flared brightly, as if displeased.
Nessa stared at it, seeing it for the first time as something other than just an inanimate object. Perhaps it was alive after all. She considered it for a second, wondering if it would harm her as it had Grover. It never had before. But as her gaze went to Grover’s hands, she suddenly had doubts. It had reacted to Grover. It still was, in all honesty, glowing brighter than usual, showing the damage it had caused; the shadow still moving within.
She prodded it with a toe, and when nothing happened, she bent over and gingerly picked it up. The orb was warm to the touch, but not abnormally so, not any more than usual. After a moment, the shadow disappeared from sight and the light dimmed, going back to its normal soft glow, as if content. She carried it back to the campsite, holding it at arm’s length until she was sure that it wasn’t going to flare up again.
Nessa found Hunter standing between three crumpled figures. He swung around when he heard her approach, still on alert, then instantly relaxed when he saw that it was her. He rushed over, taking her by surprise, and engulfed her in a tight embrace. “I told you to stay behind me,” he growled in her ear. “Where the hell did you go, and more importantly, why?”
“He took my orb,” Nessa explained, voice muffled against his chest. “I went to retrieve it.”
Hunter stiffened, drawing back a little. “I see,” he said tightly. “You were obviously successful.”
“Yes.” She shifted her grip on it, holding it protectively.
“And what happened to our dear friend Grover?”
“He is somewhat incapacitated over yonder way.” She pointed roughly in the general direction.
A touch of humour entered his eyes, warming them. “Good,” he said, lips twitching. He stepped back and crossed over to the sleeping bags, quickly packing them up. Nessa stared, then shook herself, tucking the orb back into its messenger bag, and helped to collect their stuff, pretending that she hadn’t liked having his arms around her nearly as much as she had.
“We need to hurry,” Hunter said, knocking her out of her thoughts, making her blush, “and put as much distance as possible between us and them before they wake up.”
Nessa nodded in agreement and began stuffing her clothing into her bag. Something then occurred to her. “There were five of them in the village.”
“One of them must have taken Betty away. He’ll be back soon, wondering what’s taking the others so long.”
It was then, mentioning Betty, they realised that without the horse to carry their bags, they’d have to do it themselves, which would only slow them down. They abandoned everything other than their sleeping bags, a change or two of clothing, a cooking pot and what was left of their food.
Nessa picked up her messenger bag, heavy with the weight of the orb, and secured it in place before shouldering her other bag. She waited patiently as Hunter put out the fire, then together, they fled into the darkness of the night with nothing but the moon to show the way.
“Betty’s been stolen,” murmured Hunter, the fact just hitting home.
“She has.”
“I’ve lost Margret’s horse.”
“Well, I think it was a joint effort.”
“Margret’s going to kill me.”
“Probably.”
Nessa groaned, sleep still clouding her thoughts. She briefly wondered why her body ached so much, then the events of last night came rushing back. They had walked for hours, determined to put as much distance between them and the bandits as possible. They had collapsed at dawn, just as the eastern sky had began to lighten, with barely enough energy or inclination to slip into their sleeping bags.
The ground was hard and rough, but that wasn’t what had so unkindly woken her. It was Hunter, crouched by a small fire, cooking a filleted fish over it. Dark bags marked the skin under his eyes and a bruise had formed on his cheek, a sibling to the fading one on his forehead. He looked worn out and cheerless.
Nessa sat up, tired beyond belief, and murmured a greeting. He gave her a small smile and handed her half of the cooked fish. Nessa ate it without tasting, and when she had finished, collapsed back down, snuggling deep into her sleeping bag. The sun was high in the sky, shinning bright, but it did nothing to stop her eyelids from sliding closed. Across from her, Nessa heard Hunter retreating to his own sleeping bag.
∞∞∞
It was past midday when Nessa awoke once again, although this time it was of her own volition. She peered over at Hunter, finding him still fast asleep, an arm flung over his eyes. Nessa smiled to herself. In sleep he looked younger, more relaxed, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lifted. Nessa didn’t know what the burden he carried was, but she knew that it was a heavy one. Perhaps it had something to do with his sister, or how he ended up in Ironguard in the first place? Maybe they were connected? Still, Nessa could only presume since she didn’t have the heart to ask him.
Nessa got up, finally coming to a decision about something. Looking around, she saw that they had left the woods far behind and were now camped out in the open, the river only a stone’s throw away. She left Hunter as he was and picked up her messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 16
