Five Years Ago:

“Keep walking there, girl.” The pudgy bandit leaned over in his saddle and prodded Elke with the end of his leather-wrapped club when she slowed. She glared at him and spat. The women behind her were exhausted; she could feel the rope their wrists were all tied to tighten when her pace was more than they could manage, and they couldn’t manage much after walking through the woods for hours.

Her captor shrugged before using the club to add a few new bruises to Elke’s back and shoulders. She had an extensive collection by now, but it was a price she was willing to pay. A couple of the older women hadn’t been able to keep up, but the brigands weren’t stopping, and they weren’t leaving witnesses behind, either. It had at least been quick. Elke wasn’t sure if she was one of the lucky ones, or if they were.

She was bound for a slave market unless she escaped, that much she was certain of. Bandits would sometimes supplement their income from robbing travelers by selling their victims into bondage. Smugglers ran a lively trade in unfortunate souls along the rivers and on secret paths through the woods to the border with the empire.

“Fuckers.” She muttered under her breath and tried to move her shoulders so they wouldn’t stiffen up. There was a paring knife hidden in her boot, and there were eight captive women, against only two men on horseback. If she was patient, and made her move when they were both dismounted, she and the others could overpower their captors and make a run for it. If neither of the bandits got away to bring the rest of the gang, she knew it could be hours before they were missed.

She stumbled on a root in the path and nearly fell. “Bad eyesight on that one,” the lanky fellow in the back called as he brought up the rear on a stolen draft horse. “We got the brightest moon I’ve seen in ages, and she’s still tripping over shit.” He was right about the moonlight, the night was clear and the full moon bathed the trail and the forest around it in a radiance that made lanterns unnecessary. Elke sneered at him defiantly.

“Temper like a kicked goose too,” the one in front said. “And that moon is bad luck, mark my words! A moon like that is for witchery, an’ no mistake! It’s a night for ghosts and evil spirits, and the sooner we’re out of these damned woods the better!”

“You’re doing a lot of work by moonlight for a man what’s afraid of the dark.”

“I got out-voted. Besides, I ain’t worried about the dark, I’m worried about what’s in it. The veil between this world and the others gets thin under a full moon, that’s what my gran used to say. ‘The moon casts shadows, and nasty things crawl through them,’ is what she said. I ain’t gettin’ ate by no demon on account of any of you, so you lot best stay on the damn trail, you hear me?” He pointed with his club at the frightened captives, who flinched away from it. They’d all been struck at least once by now. He pulled a clay bottle from a saddlebag and took a swig, grimaced slightly, then corked it again.

Elke had been walking through these woods to markets, fairs, and festivals for years and never heard anything about witches or demons in them. She’d never seen these men before, either, so they were probably passing through with their gang and saw an opportunity as people were heading home from the Harvest Festival. Most of the brutes had stayed behind to see if anyone else they could get the better of would wander down the road. “Fuckers,” she whispered again.

She skipped slightly as she tried to discreetly shake her foot. The knife was rubbing against her ankle and giving her a blister. She did her best to ignore it, she needed to keep them from noticing until it was too late.

They came to a place where the paths branched, one climbing up out of the creek bottom on the left, and the other following a shallow stream that Elke could hear trickling through the rocks on her right. The man in front turned his pony towards the hillside trail and Elke moved to follow him, when the rope tugged against her wrists and brought her to a stop.

A middle-aged woman w as standing at the intersection of the paths, looking up directly at the moon, whispering something Elke couldn’t make out.

“Hey, get moving!” the lanky man in back shouted. Elke didn’t really know the woman, she’d joined their group so as not to be walking alone. She’d introduced herself as Aynur, and said she was on a pilgrimage. She made some gestures with her hands as she whispered, then gave a bow, not taking her eyes off the moon.

The pudgy man rode up on his pony and laid into Aynur with his club, shouting about witchcraft and summoning evil spirits.

“I was praying!” she cried, “I was only praying! You can’t kidnap someone and expect them not to pray!” The bandit gave her another thwack with his club. “If I so much as stub my toe tonight, I’m going to assume it was you putting a hex on me, and I’ll break every one of your damn fingers!” He snarled as he punctuated his threat by poking the poor woman with the end of the club. “Pray when we get there! You’ll have plenty of time for it!” He turned his pony and began to amble up the track, muttering about witches.

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They trudged up the hill, and Elke found herself looking out across the cemetery near Mason’s Ford. Their captors marched them through the gates and up to a mausoleum, herded them inside, and then chained the door shut.

Jens watched as Osgar stomped around the back of the mausoleum to tie up their mounts, muttering oaths and curses about witches and the full moon. He shook his head in exasperation as he sat down on a nearby headstone and dug his own earthenware jug out of a sack. Well, it was his jug now, at least. He smirked. Stupid dirt farmers.

All he had to do now was wait for the rest of the crew to show up, make sure the prisoners didn’t escape from a stone building with a single door he’d chained shut, and not fall asleep. It was a job so easy, he could do it drunk. He fully intended to as well, there was no sense in being both bored and sober. That kinda shit was for farmers. He took a pull off the jug.

Elke squinted through the crack between the doors, but she couldn’t really see anything except the chain and padlock on the outside door handles. She groaned in frustration and turned back toward the others. She wanted to rub her aching arms, but the bandits hadn’t removed the ropes before they pushed the captives in. She joined the others as they looked over one another’s injuries and did their best to be brave. There were a lot of watery eyes, but nobody had broken down yet and cried. Elke wouldn’t blame anyone if they did, she was going to have a good cry herself about it at some point, but she knew her best chance was to get away before the rest of the gang showed up. She needed to stay alert.

Aynur was sitting on the floor and praying again, this time with her eyes closed. Most of the other women seemed to be joining her, so after giving the door one last push, Elke did as well.

“Who are we praying to?” she asked.

Aynur opened her eyes. “I’ve been appealing to Hecate, but she’s been listening to me go on for months as I wander, so she’s probably sick of me by now. I’d take whatever help I can get at this point.” she replied. A couple of the others smiled, and Elke did as well. They offered prayers to Kinisaltria, Aricia, the Wayfarer, Vestalia, and even Grandmother Root. Elke thought this was probably not the sort of thing Grandmother Root usually helped with, but she was one of the older women’s favorite, and they were praying anyway.

After supplications were over, Elke was curious.

“You said you were wandering, are you trying to get somewhere in particular?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m on a pilgrimage. I’m trying to see a new moon at each of the twelve lunar henges. It’s supposed to be a journey of rebirth, or new beginnings, following the lunar cycle. I suppose this is new, but it’s not what I was looking for.”

“What were you looking for?”

“What I’m supposed to be doing with my life,” she sighed. "I spent the last twenty years raising my children, but now they’re all grown and having children of their own. At first, it was nice to have some time for myself, but after a couple months, I was lost. I knew how to be a mother, but I’d forgotten how to be just myself, or maybe it was that I just wasn’t the young woman I remember being before. I needed a new purpose, some over-arching goal for my new life.

“I was talking to a priestess, and she suggested this. She called it ‘an opportunity to get to know the woman I was now’. I guess it’s working?”

“What have you learned about yourself?”

“I prefer to travel with a well-guarded caravan.” She smiled and Elke laughed.

Jens was feeling great. Stealing alcohol was kind of a roll of the dice, some people had poor taste, and some people were just too poor to afford good hootch. He’d done well this time though; just enough burn, but it still went down smooth. He was also about to make a whole pile of crowns when the goods sold, and to top it all off, it was a beautiful moonlight night. Osgar was afraid of his own shadow sometimes, there was nothing to be worried about.

The only real problem Jens had was that he didn’t have anyone to drink with. Sure, there was more liquor for him this way, but he wasn’t going to hear any songs or stories he didn’t already know.

Then he had an idea. He staggered to his feet and turned around to face the headstone he’d been sitting on.

“Name’s Jens,” he almost didn’t slur, “pleased ta meet ya.” He held out his hand to shake, then his eyes widened, and he laughed. “No, don’t get up, it’s fine.”

His eyesight wasn’t bad and there was plenty of light, but things were a little blurry at the moment, so he squinted as he read the name on the grave. “Can I buy you a round,” he hiccuped, “Basil?” He poured a bit out where his new friend lay.

“What are you doing?!” Osgar shouted. He’d come around the corner of the mausoleum just as Jens poured.

“Where have you been?” Jens asked, ignoring his question. Osgar didn’t understand how to make friends.

“I tied up the horses and checked on our supplies, and then I took a bit of time to calm down after that damned witch tried to hex me right in front my face. Then I come back here to find you speaking with the spirits of the dead!” Osgar put his face in his hands before giving an anguished groan. “I’m going to end up cursed for sure!”

“‘Speaking’ is kind of a strong word, Basil isn’t really the talkative sort.” Jens refused to take Osgar’s nonsense seriously. He didn’t know if that was the best defense against it, but it was the one he had. “Why don’t you just relax, nobody’s getting cursed, and nobody is doing any magic.”

The liquor he’d poured onto the grave burst into a blue flame, and a luminous mist began to rise from the ground around it.