10. Horseback

Children on this continent are taught their days of the week as ten.

Every tenth morning, a large star, that some call ‘the second moon’ appears in the western sky as the sun begins to rise in the east.

It is larger than most stars, hence, the name.

Those who chart the stars have yet to title it.

But its reliable arrivals have helped people mark time for thousands of winters.

The true moon waxes and wanes over these three weeks and children are also taught to refer to that amount of time as a ‘moon.’

We had been halfway through our week when abducted, so the next morning, I halfway put on my scribe’s dress, hindered by my one chained hand, combed my hair and watched for the second moon.

I wanted to keep track of our days as much as I could.

The men were mostly awake, quiet and methodical as they readied for the road.

I looked for Alric but he was not in the camp.

The comb was a strange gesture.

I could not decipher it, but I was grateful.

“Is that a comb?”

asked Helena as softly as she could.

I looked past River and Quinn’s sleeping forms to her and said “I found it on the ground.

I think it’s a man’s comb.

The teeth are small.”

I tossed it to her.

“We’ll all share.”

I felt the need to hide Alric’s gift.

But I was unsure why.

“This is so exciting.

Thank you,”

she answered and began to pull it through the ends of her molasses black hair.

“Who would have thought a comb could elicit such—”

“Is that a comb?”

hissed Mischa, further down the line.

“Hold on, you’ll get your turn,”

I replied, working my own hair into a tight braid over my shoulder.

“Always so impatient.”

“Always so bossy,” she said.

“Hush,”

said Helena.

“Must I mother you two as well as Maureen?”

“I am better behaved than Edie and Mischa,”

said her daughter, sitting up.

Along the chain, the others began to wake.

“Beautiful,”

said Thatcher, walking past us with a kettle swinging from his hand, his eyes on Helena.

He gave her a wink.

She pretended not to notice and continued combing, but I knew she had heard him.

A loud slap echoed around the camp.

Thatcher had hurled the contents of the kettle onto the pig’s wagon and steam was rising.

He had made a fire in the morning and heated stream water.

“That’s as clean as I can get it for now, ladies,” he said.

“Thank you,”

said Catrin, primly.

“Yes, thank you,”

chorused Bronwyn and River.

“Thatcher?”

I called as he began to walk away.

He turned to me, a look of surprise on his face.

“Yes, priestess?”

“May I make a suggestion? If you have the time?”

He walked back towards me to stand in front of where I was shackled.

“Go on.”

“There are nine of us and four draft horses harnessed to the wagon.

Why not put two of us on each horse and the ninth one with one of you? Perhaps we would be faster?”

He cocked his head to the side.

“This pig wagon isn’t made for speed.

And it’s not what we had planned to carry—”

he cut himself off.

“I’ll ask Alric.

I wouldn’t mind getting back on my own mount.”

“Thank you,”

I said, as pleasantly as I could.

After he walked away, Eefa squawked, “I cannot ride! Nor can my mother!”

“I would think at least four of us can,”

I answered her.

“I can.

I know Mischa can.

I would think, Catrin, that you can.”

I imagined her on her family estate, trotting on a pristine white steed.

“Yes, I can,” she said.

“I can,”

said Quinn.

“So can River.”

“Five of us then.

Good.

Maybe their captain will go along with this.

I think it will be easier on us than that wagon.

The smell alone is disheartening.”

Some of the other women began to agree with me, but Eefa said, “You just asked him without asking the rest of us.

You’re not in charge.”

There was a silence along the chain.

“Forgive me,”

I said, looking directly into her face.

“I should have asked.

It occurred to me and I opened my mouth without thinking it through.”

My apology had disarmed her.

Eefa glowered back at me and gave no reply.

I realized then that she needed a fight.

I understood why.

It would be a distraction.

I could not give it to her.

Alric, striding back into camp from some dark part of the forest, walked past our chain without so much as a glance.

I noticed there was a trickle of blood on his left hand.

He agreed that us riding would make faster time than the pig wagon.

Thatcher smartly suggested it as his own idea.

Under her breath, Catrin asked, “Which one of us will ride with one of them?”

“Not Maureen,”

said Helena.

“And not you, Catrin.

Or Eefa.

You’re too young.”

“Not River,”

Quinn said.

“Not Eefa or any of the younger ladies,”

agreed Bronwyn.

“Let it be me.

I am the oldest and they’ll not want to put their paws all over me.”

“I don’t trust any of these bastards with any of us for a second,”

pronounced Mischa, glaring towards the Procurers.

“Let it be me because I know how to handle myself.”

“You know how to piss men off,”

I said.

“That’s different.”

“It is a skill, actually,”

she replied, smirking at me.

I knew what she was doing.

The two of us showed love to each other with banter.

Today, we were saying to each other, ‘I’m still here and so are you.’

“Mischa will likely upset her rider, and I say that with love,”

Helena said.

“She thinks it's a compliment,”

chimed in Maureen.

Mischa rolled her eyes.

“It was Edie’s idea,”

Eefa suggested sourly.

“I do not mind,”

I offered, smiling at Eefa.

She looked away.

“Do not try to run,”

came Alric’s stern voice from where he was standing with Thatcher.

“The Nyossa trees grow right up alongside each other.

You cannot fit a horse through them.

It took hundreds of workers to make this road over many winters.

You cannot begin to traverse it.

These woods have wolves, bears, wildcats and the gods only know what else.

Not to mention this land is full of spirits, some more vengeful than benevolent.

And if somehow you do manage to get your horse off of the road and into the woods, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.”

“Understood,”

Mischa mumbled.

Two of the men pushed the wagon to the side of the road.

In my mind’s eye, I imagined it crawling with clematis soon.

The wagon’s horses were given reins for their bridles.

It would be hard going without a saddle and our thighs would hurt by the end of each day, but our journey would be shorter and less foul-smelling.

The cage of the wagon was wearing on morale.

The sun was unavoidable even with our apron tent.

We may as well be out in the open on horseback.

Our freshly washed bodies would begin to take on the pig smell after another day on the wagon.

River and Eefa were paired off on the bay, Quinn and Helena and Mischa and Maureen on the roans and Catrin and Bronwyn on the piebald.

Thatcher and the boy Luka were holding their hands next to the horses for each woman to mount as there were no stirrups.

I stood nervously to one side of the road, wondering which man would volunteer to ride with me.

I hoped it would be Thatcher, who seemed the most genial.

I looked up to see Alric watching me.

I could not make out his expression.

The tall one with long hair in a knot they called Perch beckoned me over to his gray.

He would have been my second choice as he called for us not to be murdered.

He pulled himself up and over his mount and then reached down to me.

Much less gracefully, I climbed up the large animal to settle behind him and clasp my hands around his waist.

Our progress that day was twice the pace.

We were closely guarded, two of the men’s horses on either side of the draft horses.

The Nyossa forest continued to enchant me.

The moss still had a slight glow to it despite the sunshine.

Alric was right.

The trees did grow close together and as we advanced down the road, they were more and more dense.

Our first day in Nyossa, we could see through the trees, but no longer.

Vines crawled over every surface and flowers I had never seen sprouted from them.

Lizards skittered up and down the tree trunks.

Birdsong was raucous.

The squeaking of small animals chirruped through the leaves, but the largeness of the horses kept them from showing themselves.

At one point, between mossy trunks, I saw the red fur of a mother fox and her two kits.

Her orange eyes met mine and I stared at her until the horse took her out of sight.

Perch was a big man, tall and broad, his muscles visible under his clothes.

My arms started to strain around his waist, but I held on.

I tried not to think about the chafing under my legs.

The midday sun and its heat beat down through the leaves.

Spring in Eccleston had still had some grayness, but the Nyossa forest seemed to be welcoming summer with open arms.