Category: Survival

Reiko and the White Wolf

It was raining hard when Ko’s father helped put her straw hat on, and told her they were going fishing.

Ko looked for her mother, but she was cloaked in shadows, cooking something tangy that made Ko’s mouth water, and her stomach growl.

“It’s raining, Father.”

“Yes, I know, but Mother needs fish, and they come to the surface for fresh water when it rains. We’ll catch them quickly, and return. You’re so good at catching them, we’ll be back in no time at all.”

His words of praise warmed Ko to the task, and she eagerly followed him down to where their fishing boat was tied on the aging, rickety pier. Ko used to think it would be fun to fall in, but with the rain and wind, and the high waves out in the harbor, she hoped the planks would hold her and Father’s weight.

It was hard to see with the rain blowing in almost sideways, but Ko was determined, and driven by hunger, to see this through, and have more warm words of love from him.

As they walked, a faint roll of thunder rumbled in the distance, and Ko took her father’s hand. He held it, and smiled down at her, and she took comfort in that.

He would keep her safe.

When they arrived at the harbor, a boat was docked beside theirs, bigger, darker and foreboding, and a man in a wide straw hat with tassels stood on the deck, watching their approach.

Ko slowed down, and her father did too, but then he said, “It’s all right, Ko.”

She relaxed, but didn’t let go of his hand, part of her still wary; the boat was a ferry, and it was unusual that it was such a remote part of the river. This was a land of small farms and local fishermen, and everyone knew everyone, and their business, and their children.

The man on the deck didn’t seem affected by the rain at all, and except for a narrowing of his eyes when they got close, he hardly seemed to acknowledge them.

Her father let go of her hand, and a little thrill of fear and anxiety went through her.

He spoke quickly to the man on the deck, and then their hands touched, so quickly that Ko wasn’t even sure it had happened.

Turning around, he looked at Ko, and beckoned her to come closer.

She went, not knowing what else to do, but felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, and dread in her spirit.

“Are we using this boat to fish, Father?”

“No, Ko. I must fish alone, and you must go with this man.”

He reached for her to bring her by the hand, but she backed away, staring at him, incredulous, and her solid grounding in him turned to soaked mud.

“I will not. I will not!” Ko was turning to run, when she saw the man thrust out his right hand toward her, fingers spread, and it was as if she’d grown roots.

“Father, help me! Why are you letting him…? I can’t move! I can’t move!”

“I’m sorry, Ko. I can’t undo the bargain I struck with him.”

“Bargain? A bargain? I’m to be sold, like some market piglet?!”

The man on the deck called out: “The winds and waves rise, ‘father.’ Is she coming with us, or do we return for you?”

She saw him flinch when the man mocked him.

A realization cold as the river rain settled over her.

“Mother’s pregnant, and you can’t afford me.”

Her father began to cry. “I’m sorry, Ko, so very sorry.”

Ko walked toward the boat, and stopped beside him, but he couldn’t look at her.

She leaned as if to kiss his cheek, and spit in his face; he felt it dribble along with the raindrops that mingled with his tears.

“‘Father,’” she used the same mocking inflection, “I haven’t begun to  make you sorry.”

 

Overmorrow (5)

(5)

 

The door opened, and the soft red light of the hearth fire glowed invitingly.

“Come in, Mitre Harkin, before the scent of the Hunters fades, and the animals grow overbold.”

I stepped inside, and the being that greeted me was somewhere between fae and monster.

It was female in form, tall, angular, a smooth, with platinum hair fanning across its shoulders like a silvered cowl, and I took a step back.

“Do I frighten you in my true guise?”

Before I could answer, it began to change: the shape grew more feminine, the flesh took on color, tone and shade, and the silver hair turned the same shade of red as the fire, as did the eyes.

It never turned its gaze from me, and I could feel the magic tingling under my skin.

“Is this more pleasing?”

Not able to trust my voice, I nodded.

“Relax, Mitre Harkin; you’re among friends here.”

“And how did you know my name.”

The Summoner smiled. “A little bird told me.”

She pointed to a cage with an open door, where the pearlescent white bird sat, now more interested in its seeds than in my face.

“Well then,” I said, “I’m going to guess that if you know my name, you know why I’m here.”

“I do, and it’s important we don’t delay.”

She led me to a small table with a small lantern, and lit it.

“Sit, Mitre.”

I sat, and she took the seat across from me, and began to change again, into an exact replica of Xantara.

“This is the girl you seek across worlds?”

“Yes.” Questions were burning on my tongue, but time was of the essence, and I had to tell myself that despite my curiosity, I didn’t really want to know.

“Very well.” The Summoner didn’t change back to her true form, and sensed my discomfort.

“If this is who I am summoning, this is how I must remain,” she explained. “There are rules governing these things too, Harkin. We are not allowed to do as we please.”

I cleared my throat. “Good to know.”

She smiled without amusement. “Give me your hands, and call to mind what you know of her.”

I obeyed, and she closed her eyes for a long moment before she spoke again.

“Ah, you are fond of her, but not in love.”

“She trusts me; I would not violate it, and she is of another time, and young.”

“You are a man of fortitude, for she is a surpassing beauty.”

“My message…?”

She smiled again, with amusement.

“Indulge an old crone, Mitre Harkin; I don’t get many visitors these days.”

I said nothing so that she could get on with it.

Another long moment, then more words.

“The demon gravely frightened you.”

I swallowed, then replied, “Yes.”

“It wants to use you as bait, to kill the Protector.”

I said through gritted teeth: “Yes, that is the message I want to tell her; she is returning tomorrow, and I don’t know what time. I have to warn her.”

“Very well.”

Since my ride out of the temple gates, it seems my senses were heightened: colors were more vibrant, the air had scents riding its currents, and it seemed as though I could see distances as if they were near.

The sounds of birdsong were never sweeter, and the tangy musk of the horse I rode was sharp in my nostrils, but not unpleasant.

During the walk through Dark Wood, the night seemed to want to blend me into it, and I wasn’t afraid, even though I was with the Hunters. It might also have been Vilus conveying her own fearlessness through her small hand into me, but that didn’t feel entirely true.

Now, I was aware of a sweet, slightly cherry scent from the hearth, the even breathing of the Summoner, the crackling, hissing dance of the red flames and the small branches, and the redolent scent of patient age and fleeting time laced with pine and spices the Summoner used in her art.

My own breathing evened out, and the rigors of the day seemed to peel themselves from my spirit.

I wasn’t aware that I’d closed my own eyes until she spoke again, in Xantara’s voice.

“Mitre Harkin?”

My eyes opened, and I gasped: the Summoner’s eyes were milky white, with nothing else inside them. A jolt of fear that Xantara was struck blind flitted through my mind.

“Xantara…”

“I can’t see you, Mitre, but I can hear you. What have you done?”

It was Xantara’s voice.

“I…I got a Summoner to call upon you; something’s happened, and you need to know.”

“Oh…What is it?”

“I got a visit from a demon; it first sent a messenger, that only manifested part of itself; it snatched away my covers, and then there was laughter, loud and deep, beneath the floor when I set out to warn you.

“They’re going to use me to get you, Xantara. You mustn’t come back today. They’ll strike at you through me.”

“Oh, Mitre! That you’ve used such unwholesome means to warn me…”

“It’s nothing, my child. I had to do this.”

The Summoner looked away from me, as if someone else was in the room.

“What? Oh, it’s nothing Antarus, I was just practicing a spell over distance.”

“Antarus? Xantara, who are –“

“Oh, I’m sorry Mitre Harkin. I didn’t tell you? I found another Protector!”

She reddened. “Or rather, he found me. He’s one of the male sect who escaped the slaughter of the last war. His name is Antarus; he’s been with me awhile, and,” she reddened again…”we’re betrothed.”

I knew it wasn’t physically possible for my heart to sink, but it felt that way.

I admit that I was careless, that I panicked, and I blurted out the truth as I knew it.

“He’s going to kill you, Xantara.”

“Antarus?”

“Yes, he’s in league with the demons. You must leave, now.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I’ll explain everything. Meet me in the Dark Wood, at the Summoner’s. I’ve friends to guide you.”

“Mitre Harkin, I do trust you, but…”

“Then trust me now, dear one. Flee for your life.”

The Summoner began to change again, the shoulders broadened, the hair grew light and curly, and the eyes went from white to blue.

“Ah, Mitre Harkin. Foolish of you to speak to her so, when you knew I was here.”

“Antarus! Don’t you dare harm her!”

“Or what, Mitre? You’ll perform a ritual for a god of stone to hit me with a rock?”

He started laughing.

“No, you lowborn dog, I will do it myself.”

He stopped laughing.

“Xantara is ours, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve blocked her senses, so she doesn’t know about our conversation; I’ll even let her come back to you, just to prove that we can take her from you, whenever and…however…we want.”

His tone changed from threatening to casual, as if we were talking over a cup of wine.

“You’ve been a friend to her, Harkin. She blathers on about you all the time, and how wise and kind and good you are, so I pretended to be those things too, and now,” the Summoner’s arm went out in the air, as if around someone’s shoulders,  “she belongs to me”

“Why would you turn against your own kind to aid in the destruction of man?”

“Why do you think, Mitre?” The Summoner’s arm settled back on the table, her hands clenched not quite into fists, but close enough.

“They promised you something. You idiot child, they’ve lied to you. They do nothing but lie; they are incapable of doing anything else!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Harkin. Don’t you see?

“They’ve already done it.”

“What?”

“I’m immortal.”

“Then you sold your soul for a trifle. If you come for Xantara, I will fight you, Antarus, with everything I know.”

The Summoner sat back, and smiled the way Antarus would; smarmy and cocky, confidence corrupting into arrogance.

“Good, then, Mitre Harkin. It shouldn’t take long.”

The Summoner began to change back to Xantara.

“Mitre Harkin? Are you still there?”

I was sick of heart, and gut, and mind, but I couldn’t let her stay there.
“Yes, Xantara, I’m still here.”

“What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“Nothing, my dear. I’ve taken enough of the Summoner’s time. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I look forward to seeing you again, Mitre Harkin. I enjoy our time together.”

“As do I, dear one. See you soon.”

The Summoner smiled as Xantara, and the smile faded as she began to change back into her original form, all milky substance, a spirit coated in liquid flesh.

Her expression, much as it could be, was stern.

“Your fondness for her made you reckless, Mitre.”

“I know.”

“The war will come sooner than later, then.”

“I suppose. What will you do?”

“What I’ve always done in troubled times; rely on the Dark Wood to keep intruders at bay.

“That will be ten gold pieces, please.”

I dug it out, but had to ask. “Why does something like you need gold?”

She took the pieces, and held them in her hands, gazing at them with a small smile on her lipless mouth, then looked up at me with those milky eyes.

“It’s pretty.”

Black smoke began to roil in inky tendrils up the chimney.

She inclined her head toward the door.
“Mitre Harkin, I wish you well.”

 

 

Overmorrow (3)

They would use Xantara’s affection for me to catch and kill her.

I was sweating, and were it not against the rules of the gods I served to do so, I would have sworn.

The silence that followed was even more nerve wracking; I dared not get up to retrieve the covers, and the light of my night candle seemed too tenuous and meager to venture. Still, sitting up against the headboard and cowering would serve no purpose either, so after some minutes, where nothing else seemed it was going to occur, and the desire to sleep had fled, I got up.

Snatching covers, then? A rather childish prank.

My pounding heart had begun throb once more, and my breathing evened out.

I ran a hand through my hair, more out of distraction than a need to straighten, and went over to my writing desk, where my brandy decanter sat, and poured myself a healthy dose.

I’ve never had them come to me before. They’re after me now, to get to her.

   Fool! You should’ve known it would only be a matter of time.

That meant the temple was now at risk too, though it was all but abandoned in patronage and congregants, all stragglers really, like me, who, for whatever reason, just didn’t want to let go.

I possessed no certain powers or gifts that they would need, and I realized the childish prank was a message: they could get to me, and when they did, they would use Xantara’s affection for me to catch and kill her.

I will return overmorrow. The day after tomorrow.

We were now into the wee hours of this day, which was all I had to try to send her a message, though I had no way of knowing how to do that.

Find a way.

There was only one way, and it was not an easy one. It was perilous in terrain as well as the occupants in it, but it would be my only chance.

In the hillsides surrounding the temple was a hidden path, stony and steep, that led into the dark woods, known for having little sun and nothing good inside. It was a pestilence on the land, but we’d defeated them long ago, and they remained there, also in dwindling number, being unable to prey any longer on the populace.

A victory the gods of light had won, at great cost.

But their ancient magic still pulsed in putrid waves throughout the woods, corrupting tree and creature and stream, and it seemed they too, were unwilling to let go.

In this, I was fortunate, for now I could seek a Summoner, one of those who were able to bridge the gap between worlds untold and unspeakable, and ours.

For the remainder of the night, I packed for my journey, though I had no idea how long it would take. I was a fair enough horseman, and handy with a crossbow (which for all I knew they could burn in my hands).

While packing, I shook, and mumbled, and drank brandy, but the overall factor was protecting Xantara. I told myself I was not, in fact, running away; if they killed me, I’d have no further part in things, and therefore would not be blamed for the inevitable, even if history branded me a coward.

Still, it felt like I was doing exactly that: no one would know if I left for good, and when they found out, they wouldn’t care.

They scared you off without even touching you.

I ignored that voice, and checked the crossbow to make sure everything was still working. I didn’t hunt often, but I used this when I did; I liked the feel of it, the swiftness of the arrow, the finality of the kill, and the silence of the falling prey, like Xantara’s falling demon.

It was almost graceful the way it fell, until it crashed.

I admit to being surprised the noise of the table breaking brought none of the other clerics running, but when I looked over, the table had been as it always was, so there was no reason to fear.

Leave now, Harkin. You’re conflicted, and trying to put it off with useless memories.

I began to leave, and the sound of footsteps behind followed me to the door.

I stopped and turned, and said to no one visible, “You can’t have her.”

And once again, the laughter, far more low and sinister, rumbling through the soles of my feet, filled the room.

I somehow managed to close the door with my hand shaking.       

 

*******************

The sun was just kissing the edge of the horizon awake when I finally set out.

I would reach the dark woods in the late afternoon; it was doubtful if the horse would go in, or if I could maneuver him if he did, so I’d already resolved to do the last leg of the journey on foot, which meant I would be in the Dark Wood at night.

Since no one had ever explored it to chart it, at least that I knew of, what happened in there at night was even more of a mystery than what happened during the day, but I’d also resolved to make it out alive, otherwise, this undertaking was purposeless.

It would be no mean feat if I survived, but would I be coherent.

I shook my head; too much speculation on the unknown. I’d have to trust myself, and this animal, to deal with whatever came up.

Leaving my thoughts, I gave over to admiring the view.

The hills were yet green, with a tint of autumn in the leaves now, and birdcalls sounded in cacophonous harmonies in the trees, as morning flocks of geese took wing to their feeding places.

The air was sharp, and clean, invigorating me, and I promised myself that if I did live, and remained sane, I would explore the surrounding countryside more frequently.

Duties were binding, and sometimes limiting, and kept one from doing things far more important.

The gods were served were benign, and I would go so far as to say, somewhat ineffective: gods of trees and stones and water, small gods of nature to micromanage what the bigger gods of planets and stars and weather had no time for, or didn’t want to be bothered with.

The people, for a time, seemed to be content with that, and the temple, while not wealthy, prospered well enough until the years of drought, and everything died but the trees of the Dark Wood.

Those brave enough to try and bring out the occupants to help us were never seen again, and the pyres of livestock and people burned high and long during those years.

Those who didn’t get sick, or try to wait things out, packed and left.

With their leaving, the temple, and its useless clerics and ineffective gods, fell from favor, and the offerings dried up along with the crops.

Some of the clerics, like me, who had no other family, simply waited for the end, and lived off the last of the stockpile we’d saved, and somehow made it through the winter.

That spring, the rains returned with a vengeance, and had remained more or less consistent, but the people who trickled in now to try their hand were mostly new farmers, so the land would take some time to turn fertile again for abundant crops; they could still eke meager ones while they worked together to establish themselves.

They were willing to do the hard work in order to claim the land their own, but few had come to the temple to replenish the congregation.

But we had another problem: with the Protectors gone, and the creeping demise of the temple, whose minor gods had now abandoned the faithless, the demons, sensing the absence of power to stop them, were returning.

And with only one Protector left, after they killed her, the clerics were the next line of defense they would take down.

I then recalled the dream of the young boy who’d beheaded Xantara, but whether it was dire prophecy, or just a nightmare, I couldn’t know.

I was on a fool’s mission, to save a world that didn’t deserve it, and to place the burden of that squarely on the shoulders of a young, untried girl who shouldn’t be alive, and trusted me.

You can’t have her, I’d said to the demon that dogged my steps, and even now, was certainly trailing me.

You can’t have her.

And now, I had to make that happen.

At any cost.

 

 

 

Soyala and The Runaway

She didn’t know how long she’d been running, and now she was in unfamiliar territory. Her body was sore, and her feet full of small cuts and scratches, but it was worth it.

She barely escaped.

The slavers were cruel men with strange markings, sharp piercings, and thick, hard, callused hands that often held thick, heavy chains, and whips laced with things that cut flesh to shreds.

The screams and cries of those victims kept the human chattel shaking and crying through the night, to drift off to restless sleep with nightmares until dawn, only to be awakened by raucous laughter, coarse words, hard boots, and grabbing hands.

Being scrubbed like dirty pots, worked and beaten like mules, and passed around like back-alley dice resulted in three things: embracing the life, going insane, or dying.

Escaping, as she’d done, was perhaps the deadliest option, because as far as she knew, she was the only one who had, and was still alive; others had tried, and their deaths, in public for all to see, reached new depths of torture and brutality.

These were men without souls, hewn on the anvils of hell, and tempered in its fires.

She didn’t know if they’d ever stop looking; she only knew she couldn’t stop running.

**************

The sun was low, but the moon was already rising, not willing to wait its turn, when she found a path, wide and smooth, flat, and flanked by high, ancient trees with arced branches that threw long, deep blue shadows at her feet, as if laying down cloaks for her to cross puddles.

Someone did that for her once, but she couldn’t remember his face.

The wind began to pick up speed, and in her tattered clothing, between the chill of the coming night and the horrors of her dreams, she’d be shivering again.

I will have to make the best of it; I’m too tired go on.

An opening in the tree line caught her attention, and if it had been dark she would have missed it, and wound up sleeping by the roadside, easy pickings for man or beast.

She said a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god was listening, and went inside, bathed in the last weak rays of sunlight.

Almost immediately, after her eyes adjusted, she saw a place where she could shelter on the lee side of some rocks where she could take shelter against the wind, and keep out of view from hunters, if she didn’t cry out in her sleep.

Excited, and eager to rest, she half-ran, half-stumbled to where the rock above her jutted out above the one below, and she almost sobbed in relief when she realized she would fit in the space between them.

Like a coffin, almost. Dark and hard, but safe.

A breeze gusted through, and she heard a splash, a leaping fish perhaps, and realized she was close to water, though she’d missed seeing it at first.

The night will be colder, but there’s nothing to be done for it.

   Folding her arms across her breasts, though there was no one around to be modest for, she examined the space again to see how she might best lie down, when she saw a small light in the distance, coming through the trees.

She felt the urge to flee flash through her, but her muscles were unresponsive.

If it’s the slavers come, I’ll take my own life first.

   Yet something about the light was strange; it was steady, neither brightening nor dimming in its intensity.

The wind doesn’t seem to affect it.

The light was also low to the ground, not raised high as a torch would be, nor was it moving especially fast.

Curious now, she watched its approach; someone seemed to be carrying it; she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a green fabric, the color of sunlight through leaves in high summer, and a brief flash of honey gold hair.

A sprite. A witch. I fled from slavers to die in this copse.

The sun was gone now.

The girl shrank back against the rocks.

She realized she was breathing too quickly, and pursed her lips, willing herself to stop.

By the nimbus of light, she could somewhat see the woman’s features; they were distinct, but not sharp, not yet.

Soon, whoever it was would see her, if they couldn’t already.

As she turned to climb up into the space, she slipped, fell and hit her head, crying out, as whoever was carrying the light came upon her, outlining her sobbing shadow with a corona of amber-gold light.

She gave herself up for lost.

“Kill me then. Get it over with.”

Night clouds drifted apart, and a waning gibbous moon suffused the clearing with a brighter, softer light.

They could see each other clearly now, and when the light the woman was carrying went out, the girl could see there was no lantern or torch.

The light was around her hand!

“Don’t be startled, friend. I mean you no harm. My name is Soyala. What is yours?”

The girl, still processing what she’d just witnessed, was hesitant.

The woman stepped back. “I promise not to hurt you.”

They stayed like that for a moment, and the girl rolled over, stood to her feet, and took stock of the woman: she was beautiful, regal, but for wanting a crown.

She wore a gown, not seeming to fit the surrounding, but more for a noblewoman. It was green, with gold piping, and her hair was artfully coiffed, and unbound. She had no weapon, but that meant nothing to the girl. If this woman could put light around her hand, she could put a weapon in it too, but she would’ve done that by now if she was going to do anything.

Almost imperceptibly, the girl felt herself begin to relax a bit.

“Will you tell me your name?”

“It’s…it’s…my name….is Brielle.”

“Brielle,” the woman smiled at her. “It has the sound of melody, of wedding bells. It’s a beautiful name.”

“Th-th-thank…thank you.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I…I’m cold.”

“And scared.”

“Yes.”

“What would you have me do to ease your mind?”

Before she knew what she was going to say, the words were out.

“Hold me? Please? Please, before I drift away.” She stumbled toward Soyala, her arms outstretched.

Soyala embraced her, reignited the light from her hand, and put it around both their bodies,

Brielle clung to her as if she were the last floating piece of a sunken ship, and her wails and sobs rang across the river, the tolling of funeral bells over the epicedium.

*****************

Brielle woke to find herself still in the clearing of the thicket, but covered with a thick blanket, swaddled almost, and warmed by a fire Soyala had made.

Craning her neck, she could see the woman, sitting on the rocks alone, a cushion of her own beneath her, staring calmly at the wheeling stars, the climbing moon, and the rolling river.

Something in Brielle knew what happened.

“How much did you see?”

Soyala didn’t look at her: “Almost all  of it; the pain was too much, so I stopped.”

“I’m sorry if it…if …my memories…my dreams…they hurt you.”

“It’s not you who should apologize. Your anguish was great, and deep within you. I thought I could take some it from you but…”

Brielle put the covers aside, and clambered up to sit beside Soyala, and saw her eyes were brimming.

“The horrors you’ve seen…the brutality of men…” She shook her head at the images.

Brielle took her hand, and interlaced their fingers.

“And yet, Soyala, I’m here. I’m here because of you. I can go on.

“I will.”

And they sat, looking at the moon floating on the river’s surface, the ripples and eddies dancing tarantellas across its reflection, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

********************

Brielle woke to find herself nestled into the space again, and swaddled in the blanket.

The day was overcast, the clouds still gleaning the moisture needed for rain, but for now, the ground was dry, if chilled.

A slow moving fog rambled down the slow moving river, sending fragile tendrils onto the banks, and over the grass, dissipating before the heat of another small fire, and her clothes were clean, and no longer torn.

The smell of roasting rabbit meat was in the air, and she found herself salivating.

“Good morning, Brielle.”

“And to you, Soyala.”

“Come, we have meat, bread, and water.”

“You hunted?”

“I cooked.”

“But how did…?”

Soyala smiled.

“Do I want to know?”

“If you really want to know, then I will really tell you. But does it really matter?”

“No. No, it doesn’t.”

They ate in companionable silence.

********************

“Where will you go?”

“Best if I sail. Sail far, where they won’t find me.”

“How do you know?”

Brielle smiled.

“Do I want to know?”

They laughed.

“Come,” Soyala said, taking Brielle’s hand. “I will walk with you to the road.”

As they rounded the opening in the trees, Brielle saw a sleek, strong horse cropping grass at the entrance.

She shrank back in horror, her hand over her mouth. “They’re here!”

Soyala shushed her. “They are not, Brielle. Quiet yourself. The horse is yours.”

“Mine?” She walked up to the horse, who stopped eating and watched her approach.

“Where did he come from?”

“He is my gift to you, to speed you on your journey, to get away from them.”

“But he’s unsaddled.”

“He won’t go with you over the sea. Take him to the pier, and he’ll return to his home from there.”

Brielle gave Soyala another long hug, one that felt lighter, still with a pang of melancholy, but lighter.

Soyala closed her mind to keep away the girl’s memories, and when they finally let each other go, they were crying.

“Be safe, Brielle”

“Soyala, I…”

“If we meet again, we will celebrate, yes?”

“Yes.”

Soyala kissed her forehead: “Farewell, my friend.”

Brielle gave her hand a light squeeze. “My Soyala.”

She mounted the horse, which endured her clumsiness, and let her adjust.

“What’s his name?”

“For as long as your journey lasts, whatever you like.”

*******************

Brielle told herself she wouldn’t look back, but she did, and what she saw made her turn the horse around and start riding back.

Soyala’s hands were over her face, and her shoulders were shaking.

As she got closer, she called, but Soyala didn’t seem to hear her;  Brielle saw her slowly fade from view.

She brought the horse up short,  shaking her head in wonder.

Who are you…?

She had too many questions now; the answers would have to wait.

**************

“Come, Hatik, let us go.”

She’d named the horse after her loathsome captor, and as he trotted through the rain, she gave voice to her thoughts.

One day, Hatik, I will ride you as I ride this horse, not to be set free when I am done, but until you die.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015