Jack had no idea what to do next. He was racing down the road on the black and white mare, with the kids and the boy in tow. Every movement sent jolts of pain through his body, a stark reminder of the fight that had nearly killed him. His legs felt weak, his arms sore, and his jaw ached from where he had taken a hit. He knew from experience that he needed to get as far as possible from the fight, especially with Morak still alive. Jack gritted his teeth, suppressing the pain that flared up with each breath. He had messed up on that one. If he had eliminated all of them, he could've bought himself more time. But with Morak alive, he was likely gathering more men to come after them. Jack knew he was lucky. If the fight had gone any differently, or if the men hadn’t underestimated him, he could be dead—or worse.
The healing potion he had taken earlier had closed up most of his wounds, stopping the bleeding and sealing the cuts, but it didn’t do anything for the deep soreness or the sheer exhaustion settling into his bones. His muscles ached, his body heavy from fatigue, and every step the horse took reminded him of how close he'd come to being finished. His legs trembled slightly, not fully recovered from the strain of the fight, and his arms felt like lead, still weak from the blows he'd exchanged. The potion had done its job in mending him physically, but it couldn’t erase the exhaustion that weighed on him now. His body screamed for rest, for relief, but he knew stopping wasn’t an option—not with Morak still out there.
He let out a slow, steady breath, trying to shake off the weariness creeping into his thoughts. He had to keep going, had to stay sharp, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he was pushing his limits. The cuts and bruises may have healed, but the fatigue—both mental and physical—was catching up with him. And that, he realized, could be just as dangerous as any open wound.
He shook off the thoughts and pressed on. They had been riding hard for over an hour, and they all needed rest. Slowing the mare to a steady trot, Jack glanced back at the kids. They were struggling but managing to stay on. For ones so young, they rode surprisingly well, moving with the horse as if they’d been riding their whole lives.
The sun had risen high, casting long shadows on the road, which ran alongside a dense forest. The rhythmic thudding of hooves filled the quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle from the woods. Jack noticed the mare's pace had slowed, her gait becoming less smooth, and her breaths slightly heavier. She wasn’t on the verge of collapse, but she was definitely feeling the strain from their hard ride. The long gallop had taken its toll, and Jack could feel her muscles tense beneath him, signaling she needed a break.
With a sigh, Jack pulled the reins, bringing the horses to a gradual stop. The mare huffed, her sides rising and falling heavily but steadily, and the other horses, carrying the kids, also seemed glad for the chance to rest, their heads dipping slightly as they stood still.
"We’ll take a short break," Jack said, to the kids, patting the mare’s neck gently. She deserved it after carrying him this far.
Jack scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of civilization. It wasn’t just his exhaustion that had forced the stop—he could tell the horses needed to catch their breath before pushing on. They still had more in them, but it was better to give them a brief rest than risk overworking them.
“What are you looking for?” the boy asked, his curious eyes fixed on Jack.
“We need to find somewhere for your friend,” Jack replied, frustration creeping into his voice as he studied the barren landscape. “I don’t have the skills to help him. He needs a healer.”
The boy looked confused. “What’s a healer?”
Jack paused, realizing the gap in their knowledge. “Someone who mends wounds, stops the bleeding,” he explained.
The girl spoke up softly. “We have healers in the clan.”
Jack nodded. “Good. We need to get him to one.”
“Will he… will he die?” the girl asked, barely whispering.
Jack looked at her. “Not if I can help it.”
The boy glanced nervously over his shoulder. “Will the slavers come after us?”
Jack met his gaze. “Not if I can help it.”
The girl clung to her brother’s arm, her voice trembling. “Are we going to be okay?”
Jack turned back toward the road ahead. “We’ll be fine. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The horses shifted restlessly, but the brief break seemed to ease their exhaustion. Jack asked, “What’s your clan called?”
The kids exchanged a glance. “We’re part of the Ironhide Clan,” the boy said proudly. “Led by Matriarch Vayra Swiftclaw.”
The girl added, “And we’re Talia and Roran Stoneshield, grandchildren of—” But her brother quickly jabbed her in the arm, a silent warning. “Ow! Don’t hit me!” she snapped, her irritation momentarily overshadowing her shyness. Jack chuckled quietly.
He watched them bicker and pieced things together. These kids were connected to someone important in the clan. That complicated things.
“Do either of you know where we are?” Jack asked, stepping in to stop their argument.
Roran shrugged. “We left Gale’s Rest last night, heading south to meet up with the clan, but I don’t know exactly where we are now. We ran through the woods for hours.”
“Were the woods on your right or left when you jumped off the road?” Jack asked.
“Both,” Roran said. “But we jumped off the left side.”
Jack rubbed his chin, thinking. Their information wasn’t helpful. Just as frustration was about to set in, Talia spoke up timidly. “I have a map,” she murmured, pulling a small, folded paper from her dress.
Jack unfolded the map, surprised by the detail. It wasn’t just a sketch but a meticulously drawn chart, marking rivers, roads, and towns. Jack quickly located Gale’s Rest and traced their possible path south. He noted a mountain range to the north and a few villages scattered along the way.
“Who made this map?” Jack asked, looking at Talia.
“My dad. He’s a cartographer. He taught us how to read and make maps,” Talia said, her voice cracking. Tears welled up in her eyes, and Jack guessed their father was either lost or dead.
Roran put a protective arm around his sister. “It’s okay,” he whispered, trying to comfort her.
Jack gave them a moment, then asked, “Did you stop anywhere after leaving Gale’s Rest?”
Roran nodded. “Yeah, the caravan master stopped at a small village to offload goods.”
“I traded for a doll,” Talia added quietly, wiping her eyes.
Jack studied the map while the kids discussed their route. They had crossed the forest and ended up on the road they were on now. Tracing his finger along the map’s path, he paused. There was a village south of them, near a large lake.
“How far is that village?” Jack muttered, noting a scale in leagues. Then he frowned, realizing he had no idea how far a league was. “What’s a league?” he asked.
Roran gave him a baffled look. “You don’t know what a league is?”
Talia scolded her brother with a gentle nudge. “Elder Fiora told us not everyone knows the same things.” Turning to Jack, she explained softly, “A league is how far you can travel by horse at a trot in an hour.”
Jack nodded, his irritation fading. He looked back at the map and calculated. They were likely somewhere between Twin Lake and Steel Talon towns. He glanced out over the plains, trying to estimate the distance to the lake.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“Looks like we should reach a village in about two hours if we keep south,” Jack said, tapping the horse into motion and urging them onward. As time passed, Jack focused on riding, lost in thought. He longed for more than just survival—a purpose. Perhaps, for now, he had found one. Glancing at the kids beside him, their alien but fascinating features caught his attention.
Roran, the boy, looked rugged and wild, as if shaped by the wilderness. His face was angular, with sharp features and intense black eyes. Though not tall, he had a solid, heavy-boned frame, bulkier than most boys his age. He wore practical clothing—a pair of hide pants and a cotton shirt, both stained with dirt and dust from their long escape. His boots, sturdy and black, looked like they’d seen years of wear but still held strong. The overall look reminded Jack of traditional native garb but with a modern, functional twist. A layer of fine, dark hair covered Roran’s arms, and light stubble hinted at more fur to come. His round, bear-like ears and bushy tail added to his beastly appearance, and his sharp teeth, with four prominent canines, gave him a feral edge. Jack could only imagine the challenges Roran would face as his animalistic traits matured.
Talia, in contrast, had a softer, more refined appearance. She wore a simple yet elegant dress, styled like a wrap, made from deerskin. The soft, tan fabric was frayed and dirty at the edges, showing signs of their rough journey through the wilderness. Her blonde hair, matted in places, fell down her back, and a light dusting of white fur shimmered faintly on her arms and cheeks in the sunlight. Like her brother, she was covered in dirt from running and sleeping in the wild. She was smaller than Roran, with a slender frame, and her round bear-like ears peeked from her hair. Her tail was more modest, and her sharp teeth, though present, were less pronounced, giving her a more subtle, graceful appearance. Despite the grime, she still carried a certain beauty, her delicate features standing out beneath the dirt.
As Jack observed the two, he wondered about their lives as Beastkin, as Roran had mentioned. Roran seemed to be growing into his traits, but Jack couldn’t help but think of the difficulties he might face. Meanwhile, Talia’s quiet demeanor and delicate build made her seem fragile, though Jack sensed a hidden strength beneath her gentle exterior. Both of them showed signs of exhaustion, their clothes dirty and torn in places, a testament to the night they’d spent running and sleeping in the dirt.
Shaking his head, Jack's thoughts drifted as they rode on. He didn’t know if what he’d done was a good idea—not in a moral sense, but in a practical one. He’d seen his share of ugliness during his time in the Middle East. He wasn’t some naïve civilian, unaware of how the world worked. There were lines in the sand—lines that, when crossed, meant a person deserved death. He believed that, had acted on it more than once. But here, in this strange world, things were different. Jack wasn’t sure what this world’s stance on slavery was. Was it accepted? Was it the norm? If they ended up in a village where slavery was common practice, what would he do?
The more he thought about it, the less certain he became. What if he’d made a mistake by interfering? Maybe by their laws, those slavers had every right to do what they were doing. He didn’t know enough about this place, its customs, or its rules to be sure of anything. Back home, things were more black and white—he knew where he stood. Here, everything felt hazy, like stepping into quicksand. Every decision he made felt like a step deeper into something he couldn’t fully understand.
Then there was the practical side. What would happen when they reached the village? If the people there supported slavery, would he be seen as a criminal? What if they had slaves themselves? Would they see him as the enemy, or would they even care? Jack wasn’t sure if the village would welcome them or if he’d just end up walking into a trap.
And even if he’d done the right thing, was it the smart thing? What had saving these kids gotten him? A target on his back, a trail of enemies, and now two young lives depending on him to protect them. He had no idea how deep this would go. Maybe Morak and his men weren’t the only ones involved. He could be dragging himself and these kids into a larger fight, one he wasn’t prepared for.
Jack sighed, frustration gnawing at him. He didn’t have enough information to make solid decisions, and he was operating on instincts that were outdated in this new world. His gut told him that saving the kids was the right thing to do, but gut feelings didn’t always lead to smart decisions. The stakes were high, and every step forward felt like another gamble with consequences he couldn’t yet see.
He needed to figure things out. Fast. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. Had he really done the right thing, or had he just made everything worse for himself—and for the kids?
And then there was Everon. Jack hadn’t heard from her since rescuing the kids. The last thing she had said was to grab the head—but for what? What was the purpose? He didn’t like being left in the dark, especially when he was already dealing with so much uncertainty. On top of that, he had his own concerns with Everon. They came from completely different moral backgrounds, and while the contract between them was detailed and extensive, there were still loopholes. Sure, he didn’t have to fight or kill anyone directly under her orders, but if she influenced his decisions or made someone his enemy, that was still within the contract’s boundaries.
Jack knew entering into a contract with Everon had been a rash decision, but at the time, what other choice did he have? Without enough information, it had seemed like the only way to survive. But now, doubt gnawed at him. Could he really trust her? She was powerful, sure, but her motives were a mystery, and he had no idea what she truly wanted. He hated the feeling that he was just a pawn in her game.
Just as his thoughts spiraled deeper into uncertainty, a smooth, refined voice slipped into his mind, catching him off guard.
“Calm down, Jack. I’m still here, darling, and you don’t need to know about the head just yet. It will help fix your current issue when the time comes.”
Jack jumped slightly at the sound of Everon’s voice, realizing he had forgotten she could hear him when he thought about her.
“And don’t you worry about me,” she continued, her tone elegant, polished, almost aristocratic. “It takes quite a bit of energy to communicate like this, especially during the day. We’ll talk more tonight, when things are... easier.”
Jack growled softly at her words. Of course it was difficult. It always was with her. But now look at the situation he was in because of it. And still, he had no idea what she truly wanted or how far her influence could reach. The terms of their contract rattled around in his head—so many fine details, so many ways things could go wrong.
What had he really signed up for? Could she twist his actions in ways he wouldn’t see coming? She hadn’t pushed him directly into killing anyone yet, but Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that every decision she guided him toward had its own hidden agenda. Was this head just another piece on the board, part of some larger plan she hadn’t revealed? His chest tightened with the realization that he might already be in too deep to back out.
There was a quote he heard in the army that always stuck with Jack: “Lack of information is the number one enemy in war; ignorance can kill you.” — David Petraeus, U.S. Army General. That was true not only in war but in life. In fact, Jack had seen how it applied to nearly 90 percent of the situations he’d been in. Right now, he was flying blind. He didn’t know enough about this world, its customs, or even the people chasing him. And that lack of information? It was making him reckless, forcing him into decisions half-cocked and unprepared—just like today.
Jack sighed, shaking his head. He needed a way to gather more information. To figure out what he was dealing with before he made another rash choice. Charging into situations without knowing what was ahead would get him killed, or worse, it would put the kids in danger. He couldn’t afford that. Not now.
Taking a deep breath, Jack straightened in his saddle, shifting his focus to the present. He scanned the horizon and saw the glint of sunlight reflecting off the surface of a lake in the distance. The village couldn’t be far now. He could already make out the faint outline of buildings just beyond the water. His instincts told him he was heading into a situation that could go one of two ways—either the villagers would help them, or they would be walking into a pit of trouble.
Jack knew he couldn’t control everything, but he could control himself. He needed to focus. He took another deep breath and began a technique he’d learned in the military. It was simple but effective—a way to calm his mind and steady his nerves. Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four. He repeated the process, letting the rhythm of his breathing bring clarity to his thoughts.
As his pulse slowed, Jack reminded himself that he’d been in worse situations. This wasn’t the time to let fear or doubt take over. He needed to be sharp, focused. Information was power, and right now, he needed as much of it as he could get. What were the villagers like? What did they know about slavery, about the people chasing him? Would they have any idea who he was or what he had done?
He let out one final, slow breath, feeling his thoughts clear up. The panic and frustration that had gnawed at him earlier began to ease. He couldn’t change the past or control the unknown, but he could prepare himself for what was ahead. He had to stay level-headed and assess the situation carefully once they arrived. Maybe then, with more information, he could make smarter decisions.
Jack’s gaze drifted back toward the lake, now clearly in view. They were getting closer. Soon, they would reach the village, and with any luck, he could figure out what kind of people they were dealing with. He just hoped they weren’t walking into more danger.
But time wasn’t on their side. The boy lying on the saddle behind him was growing weaker with each passing hour. Jack didn’t know whether it was infection, poison, or a combination of both, but whatever it was, it was eating away at the boy fast. He needed help—and soon—or he wouldn’t make it much longer. Jack could feel the boy’s body tremble against his back, his breath shallow and uneven. The urgency gnawed at him, pressing on Jack’s mind like a weight he couldn’t shake.
He had to get to that village and find a healer. It was the only chance the boy had. But that wasn't Jack's only worry. He couldn’t be sure what kind of people they were about to meet. Were they the kind who would offer help freely? Or would they be hostile, like so many others Jack had encountered? He had to know where these villagers stood before he made any moves, before he could decide if he needed to protect the kids.
As much as he wanted to trust that things would work out, he knew better. He had to be ready for anything. If the villagers turned out to be dangerous or unfriendly, Jack needed to assess the situation quickly—figure out who was a threat and who wasn’t. It wasn’t just about getting help anymore. He had to be ready to defend the kids if things went south.
He urged the mare forward again, his muscles tense with the weight of it all. The village loomed closer with each passing moment, and Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that their arrival would either bring relief or a whole new set of problems.