Daughter of Two Worlds: Book Three of the Aun Series

by Lee Bezotte

  The man sat up, made an obscene gesture, then rubbed the growing bruise on his face.

  The man from the north didn’t appreciate the gesture. His nostrils flared, and he withdrew a knife from under his coat. “Thank you for the reminder,” he scowled, and he reached down to grab the man’s head.

  The bandit kicked and pleaded for his life. “Don’t kill me! Take anything!” he cried.

  With a simple flick of his knife, Dulnear removed the dirty-blonde braid from the back of the man’s head. He then tossed it into the fire. “You should re-think your life,” he advised.

  He and Faymia took the two healthiest-looking horses and rode east as quickly as they could.

  “Woooo, rahhhh!” Maren whispered to herself as she watched the terrible Cutthroat Seamus the Fierce race across the ship’s deck to do battle with Admiral Cole of the great ship Nollaig Moon. She could hardly contain herself as the play unfolded. Looking over to see Micah’s reaction, she added, “Cutthroat Seamus is the meanest pirate on the sea!”

  “He sure is,” the boy responded. However, his face portrayed more boredom than excitement as he watched the players prance about, clashing swords and shouting taunts. “Do you think he’ll ever defeat Admiral Cole?”

  “Certainly,” the girl answered confidently. “He wants that ship and he’ll do anything to get it!” Suddenly, there was a flash, and a deafening boom as prop cannons began firing over the audience. Maren startled, reaching for her ears. When she realized what was happening, she began to laugh. “Boom!” she shouted, and looked back at her friend.

  Micah laughed with the girl, then leaned closer to her. “I’m going to slip out for some sweets,” he said.

  Maren couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave at this moment. She looked down in her lap and realized that she had hardly touched the pie that sat there on a small tin plate. She took a big bite, then said with her mouth full, “Okay. Come back soon.”

  “I will,” the boy said, then slipped out into the aisle and out the back of the tent.

  “Pssssh!” Maren said as she used her fork to mimic the movements of Cutthroat Seamus as he fought against Admiral Cole and his crew. Enthralled with the play, she gave herself fully to savoring every sword clash, every costumed buccaneer, and every line uttered by the actors. When the play came to an end, she stood to her feet and applauded, as did the rest of the audience. It was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen!

  As the cast took a bow and walked off the stage, the girl watched them jog to the rear of the tent and make their way outside. She was thinking about running out to meet them when a man’s voice rang out, “Okay people! Let’s make a line!”

  Maren was shaken from the world of pirates and excitement. She looked around and saw sword-bearing men standing along the walls of the tent. The crowd that was so enthusiastic moments ago sluggishly shuffled into the aisles and began to queue up at the exit. She took one last bite of her dessert, set the remainder of it on the chair next to hers, and joined them.

  The girl moved slowly toward the tent’s opening. She could see cages, and men rushing about with torches. The cages sat in open wagons that were hitched to tired, droopy horses. A man asked each person their name, then he directed them to climb into one of the cages. As she approached the man, she declared, “I’m part of the crew.”

  The man looked down at Maren and said, “Of course you are. What’s your name?”

  “Maren,” she stated.

  “Well, Maren,” the man said, looking over a scroll. “Looks like you’re in the first pen.” He then pointed toward a wagon that contained several women and her friend Micah.

  The girl squinted at the wagon and rubbed her chin. The wonderful feelings she felt watching the play were quickly fading. “I have to ride in that?” she said.

  “Well, we’re all out of fancy carriages,” the man replied as his face turned sour.

  “Okay,” the girl said, and began to take small, petite steps toward the vehicle.

  Before she could get very far, the man shouted out, “Wait!”

  Maren froze and turned toward him. “Yes?”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me that sword,” the man said.

  The girl swallowed. Even though she was willing to relinquish it earlier that day, she was nervous about parting with it now. “But, my friend Faymia gave it to me,” she timidly protested.

  “I don’t care who gave it to you!” the man barked. “There are no weapons allowed on the crew.”

  Maren wondered about her decision to leave Laor. She thought about running off into the nearby fields, but was afraid. Slowly, she unstrapped her sword and handed it to the man. Turning back toward the wagons, she reached up to massage her ear and slowly walked over. She looked up into the cage. With the exception of Micah, its occupants appeared tired and joyless. Ascending the small staircase at the end of it, she took a deep breath and climbed in.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What’s Left Behind

  Son walked down the road, pulling a small cart behind him. It was filled with wooden toys and miniature versions of a trebuchet, catapult, and battering ram. He was always proud of his creations, and they sold very well when he would bring them into town.

  Moving closer to the village, he noticed an unusual amount of litter in the normally tidy setting of Laor. There were bottles, papers, and even uneaten food strewn along the ground. It irked the boy to see such a disregard for common courtesy, and he wondered if selling his wares to a bunch of slovenly festivalgoers was such a good idea.

  As he approached the town square, it looked as if a battle had taken place there. Rubbish was everywhere, and shopkeepers were tiredly picking it up and tossing it on a large fire that burned high into the cloudy afternoon sky. Others walked about searching for something, or someone, Son did not know.

  When he saw an older woman sitting outside of the pub, sobbing into her hands, he let go of his cart and slowly approached her. “Ma’am, are you okay?” he quietly asked.

  The woman wore a gray kirtle that was clean and handsomely embroidered. The places on her dress where her tears had fallen looked dark and stained. She wiped her lovely face with a handkerchief and looked up at Son. “My family is gone,” she lamented.

  “Where did they go?” the boy asked.

  “They left,” she began. “Gone with all the rest to a place I do not know. They chose to be carted off with a slaver crew rather than stay here with their mother.”

  Suddenly a feeling akin to being kicked in the stomach by a mule came over Son. Waves of dizziness and nausea flowed from his head to his feet. “Did you say slaver crew?” he asked, hoping that her next words would inform him that he’d heard her wrong and that there were never slavers in Laor.

  “Yes,” the woman confirmed. “They’ve been here for weeks, throwing their parties, getting the townsfolk fat and lazy. You must not be from around here.”

  The boy’s knees shook and felt weak. All the suspicious interactions he’d had with Maren over the last few days came back to him with agonizing clarity. The pie, the insistence on traveling to town every day, the tight clothing, and the loss of Earl; they all pointed toward what he should have seen all along. He cursed himself for being too preoccupied to realize what was happening. He’d sworn to watch over the girl and care for her, but failed to protect her from the snare of the slavers. “I’m very sorry for your family,” he consoled. “I have to find out what happened to my friend.” He then ran off to speak to a nearby shopkeeper who was sweeping broken glass away from the entrance of his store.

  “Excuse me, I’m looking for someone,” Son said, introducing himself.

  The man looked exhausted. His apron was filthy, and his eyes were red with angst. He leaned against his broom and replied, “As are many today, lad. Who is it that ye seek?”

  “A young girl, about yea high,” the boy answered, gesturing with his right hand. “She has dark hair and wears an embroidered dress.”

/>   The shopkeeper scratched the white whiskers on his chin and looked toward the sky. “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “It’s Maren.”

  “Well, I don’t recognize the name,” the man said. “But I do remember seeing a young girl runnin’ around with a little boy over the last few days. She used to ride a burro into town until she gave it to those horrible slavers.”

  A lump formed in Son’s throat, and feelings of dismay beat at his shoulders as he processed what had happened. “That’s her!” he exclaimed. “I’m supposed to be looking after her.”

  The shopkeeper began to speak but quickly stopped himself. He drew in a deep breath, then said, “Many of our young people went off today, even whole families. I tried for days to get them to go back to workin’ hard, spendin’ time with family and enjoyin’ the lovely land around Laor. But they just couldn’t stay away from the parties, the distractions, and the feasts. They were slaves long before they got in those cages today. I only wish they would have woken up and seen it. All the slavers did was set the trap, then leave our town in shambles. I’d love to give that fella Sevuss a piece of my mind.”

  “Have you seen the girl since they pulled out?” the boy asked, interrupting the man’s reflection on the past few days.

  The old man looked away, then fixed his eyes on Son’s. “I’m afraid I haven’t,” he said. “She was always with that boy, and they seemed keen to be in the thick of all the activities.”

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Oh, I reckon about an hour ago.”

  “Which direction did they go?”

  “East.”

  Son didn’t know how he was going to do it, but he determined that he was going to find the slavers and get Maren back. He was angry with himself for allowing her to be taken, but an even greater rage was growing inside of him for her captors. “Do you have a horse you’d be willing to sell?” he asked, knowing that a foot chase would be futile.

  “Oh, I suppose,” the shopkeeper answered. “But I don’t know what good it’ll do ye.”

  “Just fetch it for me,” the boy urged. “I’m going to go collect some things and I’ll be back for it shortly.”

  Son bolted off as fast as he could, leaving his cart full of toys in the town square. As he ran toward home, he made a mental list of the weapons, clothing, and money he would need to find Maren and bring her home. He didn’t care what it took. He was going to make it right—or die trying.

  Son returned to Gale Hill. He was out of breath and his chest was pounding. He burst through the door of the house and ran upstairs, where he strapped on his sword and filled a leather pouch with all of the coins he had. He trusted that it would be more than enough to purchase the shopkeeper’s horse and provide for incidentals along his journey. He then slung a bag over his shoulder and ran down the stairs to gather some items from the kitchen. As he did, he whispered prayers under his breath, pleading with the Great Father to help him bring Maren back home.

  While the boy was filling his bag, he could hear horses racing toward the house. Before he had a chance to see what was happening he heard Dulnear’s voice calling his name. He ran out the door to meet his friends and suppressed a tear.

  “Son!” the man from the north cried out, dismounting his horse. He ran to the boy and embraced him. “You are here, and you are okay.”

  Faymia followed suit and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so relieved,” she declared. “Where’s Maren?”

  The tear that the lad had been suppressing escaped from his eye and ran down his cheek. As he looked at his friends’ faces, the weight of his failure threatened to bring him to his knees. “She’s not here,” he muttered. “I’m afraid she has gone with the slavers.”

  Faymia’s skin turned white and she looked as if she were suffocating. As if struck by a boulder, she crumpled to the ground and sobbed.

  “No!” Dulnear shouted. “How long ago did she go?”

  “Earlier today,” the boy answered. “I was just leaving to catch up with them.”

  The man from the north growled, “Mount the horses, we have no time to lose!” He then ran into the house, darted up the stairs, and began rummaging through Maren’s room.

  Shaking, Son turned toward Faymia, who was still on her knees, weeping. He knew all that she had been through as a slave and vividly remembered the price they all paid to set her free. He placed his hand on her shoulder and swallowed. “We’re going to get her back. They can’t be that far off,” he declared.

  The woman took several deep breaths and regained a portion of her composure. She stood to her feet and looked at Son. “Even if we catch up to them, then what?” she asked.

  “We’ll buy her back,” Son suggested.

  “It’s not that easy. Dulnear was able to purchase my freedom because Tcharron saw me as old and used up. Maren is young and healthy, and could be of value to a slaver for many years.”

  Son didn’t know what to say. He only felt that, if he could find his friend, he would figure out a way to free her. “Then we’ll—” the boy stammered.

  Appearing in the doorway of the house, the man from the north completed Son’s sentence. “We will do whatever it takes, even if it means slaying an entire slaver crew. Now, get on those horses before it is too late.” He got on his horse and pointed it toward the road.

  Faymia and Son shared the other horse, with the woman at the reins. “A man in town said he would sell me my own horse,” the boy said.

  “There is no time for that,” Dulnear replied. “Just tell me what direction the caravan went.”

  “East,” the boy said.

  “Then east we ride—to bring back Maren!”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wages and Cages

  Dulnear, Son, and Faymia rode east as fast as the horses would allow, and the rolling southern countryside flowed on either side of them like waves of angry green ocean. The man from the north was furious that the boy had allowed Maren to be taken by slavers but channeled his anger into determination to find her. Long past the village of Laor, he began to wonder why they hadn’t caught up with the caravan yet. He signaled to his wife to stop her horse, then brought his own to a halt.

  “I do not understand it,” the warrior huffed. “We should have caught up with them by now.”

  “I’ve seen slaver bands before,” Son added. “You can pass them at a brisk jog.”

  The boy’s words collided with Dulnear with the force of an avalanche. He clenched his jaw and massaged his forehead. He was an expert tracker, yet he chose to charge after the slavers with no plan or thought. He got down from his horse and began to examine the road. He sighed and lamented, “There are no tracks.” His face grew hot and red as the realization of his mistake set in. “Those wagons would have been easy to pursue, but we blew past them like fools!”

  “How?” Son asked. “There are no crossings along this road until we reach Redbramble.”

  “They must have turned off a hidden path or trail somewhere. It is the only answer,” the northerner clarified.

  “Then let’s race back and pick up their trail,” the boy urged.

  “We passed Laor hours ago,” Dulnear chided. “They could have moved off the road anywhere between here and there. Besides, we have little daylight remaining.”

  Son joined his friend in the road and stared westward. His eyebrows pushed together and he swallowed hard. Nervously balling his fists together he asked, “What are we going to do?”

  There were many angry remarks that the man from the north wanted to respond with. Instead, he asked, “Did the shopkeeper say anything that would be helpful to us? Anything at all?”

  “Only that the slavers headed east,” Son answered. “And that they were taking the townspeople in cages, like the ones we saw on our way to Blackcloth, I suppose,” he added.

  “What else, boy?” Dulnear urged. “Think. Recall every detail of your conversation.”

  The young toymaker shook his head slowly, squin
ted, and said, “He mentioned a name. I believe it was Sevuss.”

  The fur-clad swordsman straightened. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Is that the only name he said?”

  “Yes. He said he wanted to give someone named Sevuss a piece of his mind.”

  “I suppose it is something,” the man from the north said. He then looked to Faymia, who was still atop her horse, and asked, “Have you ever heard that name?”

  The woman looked to the distance in thought. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it,” she answered. Then, as if struck by the flash of a distant memory, she said, “Tcharron. I’ve heard Tcharron say that name before.”

  “So, your former slaver may know how to find this Sevuss,” Dulnear observed. He had hoped he would never see the man again. His mood was growing more and more dark as the events of the day unfolded, and now that he knew he would be seeking out an enemy for assistance, he could barely contain his displeasure. He breathed deeply, then instructed, “We will ride until full-dark, camp for the night, and head toward Ahmcathare at first light.”

  Maren was shaken from her daydream by Micah’s voice. “Looks like we’re making camp here,” he announced.

  The wagons had formed a circle in a large clearing. Surrounding the clearing were tall trees that, to the girl, resembled stilted combatants waving swords above their heads. She was imagining them whispering eerie threats to her before her friend interrupted. “Where are we?” she asked.

  Micah paused and rubbed his temple before answering, “I don’t know. All of those strange, winding trails have me turned around.”

  Maren sat up straighter in the cage they were sharing. The others that had occupied it with her and the boy were already milling about in the circle. She remembered turning off of the eastward road and spending a long time traveling paths that were hardly suitable for their convoy. She regretted not paying closer attention to their route and was uneasy about having no sense of their location. “That sure was a great pirate show today,” she said plainly as she massaged her left ear.