The next morning, the survivors rose and began to gather their belongings, loading what they could on the backs of the two horses.

Tahel was limping. The leg that had taken the arrow would not bend and he was dragging it behind him.

Priya laid a hand on his shoulder. “May I take a look?”

Tahel nodded and Priya helped him sit down. She rolled up the leg of his trousers. The bandage she had used was stained red, but dry. “Did the wound open on our journey yesterday?” she asked. Tahel nodded. “You should have told me.”

The boy looked toward the cleric and his men. “I did want to get in trouble or left behind.”

“Oh, Tahel,” Priya said softly. “Do not fear.”

Priya carefully unwrapped the cloth bandage. When she reached the final layer, she poured some water from her sheep’s bladder onto it to help loosen it so it didn’t hurt when she removed it. Still, Tahel winced slightly when it was pulled away. The wound was red, puffy and hot to the touch.

Reaching into her satchel, Priya pulled out and laid on the ground several herbs and plants. Some were dried. Some were what she had gathered the day before as they walked.

“What are you doing?”

Turning she saw Cleric Ingolf standing behind her, his staff raised as if to ward her off or possibly strike her.

“His wound is infected,” Priya explained. “I am treating it.”

“Not with your magic,” Ingolf snarled.

Priya sat back, looking at him. It was hard. HIs visage would shift before her, flashing back and forth between an angry, hateful man who had raped and whom she hated with every fiber of her being and a scared, hurt child that would strike out when he lacked understanding.

“And what is it that I am doing that you call magic?” Priya asked.

Cleric Ingolf to the herbs and plants laid out before her. “When you don’t place your faith in God’s will and turn to the earth for healing.”

Priya looked at him calmly, seeing the scared, hurt child in his reply. “We do not see that the earth and Eusou are separate. It is his creation, after all. How can he be separate from it?”

The cleric didn’t answer her question, but instead told her, “As long as you are in my care and under my watch, you will not use your magic.”

“Do you not see his wound? If it isn’t cared for, he could lose his leg.”

“What?” Tahel cried out. “I will lose my leg.”

“Hush,” Priya told the boy. “You will not lose your leg.” She looked at the cleric. “Because I will treat it using the medicine I know.”

Cleric Ingolf dug his foot into the ground to kick dirt onto the medicines, but Priya blocked him, protecting the medicines with her body.

“Stop!” she yelled, drawing the attention of the others. Priya lowered her voice. “How would you treat something like this?”

The cleric paused, looking at the wound. “We would cut it and let the infection bleed out. And we would pray to God.”

“Are any of your men injured?” Priya asked him.

Ingolf stood up and looked over at his men. “A few burns. A few scraps.”

“You treat your men as you will and I will treat my people as I will. And we will see who is right in the eyes of Eusou.”

“Very well,” Cleric Ingolf muttered and he stepped away.

Priya looked at the herbs and plants in front of her. Pulling off a fresh orange flower bulb, she stuffed it in her mouth and began to chew it, mashing it into a fine pulp. Spitting it out into her hand, she began to mix a handful of other herbs, forming a thick paste. Holding it over Tahel’s leg, she offered a prayer to The Mother before packing it into the wound. Tahel sucked in air at the sudden pressure and pain, but he did not cry out. When she was done, Priya pulled out another cloth bandage and wrapped it around his leg.

Seeing Josif watching next to the horses, Priya called him over. “See to it that Tahel rides on the back of the horses today. The stallion is strong enough to carry him.”

Josif nodded and slipped his arms underneath Tahel to pick him up.

“Let us be off!” Cleric Ingolf called and they began that day’s journey.

As they walked, they followed the path that was cut through the woods. As before, Josif and Zachael led the horses. Tahel rode the stallion as Priya had ordered and the rest of the survivors followed behind.

Looking up, Priya saw the tall shadow of Ulan next to her. He didn’t say anything, but unwrapped his hand showing her the burn. It looked better than the day before. The burn blister had dried forming a thick callus on his hand, but it was still red around the ages.

“Please,” he whispered, looking back towards Ingolf. “I heard what he said, but your medicine works. I need my hand. It hurts and is stiff.” To demonstrate he opened his fingers as wide as he could, but they didn’t straighten, remaining curled instead.

Priya reached into her satchel and removed the balm, gently rubbing some into his palm.

“Thank you,” Ulan said quietly.

He continued to walk next to her. When Ami stumbled on a rock in the path, he caught her before she fell, swooping her up and over his head, resting her on his shoulders.

Priya turned, bewildered by his kind actions, but all he offered in return was a shrug, causing Ami to bounce upward, giggling in delight.

“How did you find us?” Priya asked.

Ulan is quiet for a moment. He points at the path beneath them. “It was these. We had heard stories from the great fall and burnings of the great cities about people who left, crossing the mountains to find peace. As the cities were rebuilt, people began to explore further and further out until they found these old footpaths; the ones closer to the cities were overgrown, but further out, where the soil was more rocky, the paths were more visible.”

“But why now?” inquired Priya. “Why after all this time?”

“Those that left were looked at as cowards. They escaped the fires and famines. Those that stayed rebuilt the cities over time. They rebuilt our civilization, carving out the rot and ruin that was caused by the collapse, and pieced themselves and the cities back together. Ten winters ago, the Imperial Master decreed that all those who had wondered and lost should be brought back to the cities, to work off their debts.”

Stolen story; please report.

“What debts?”

Ulan sighed. “Your ancestors left. My ancestors stayed and rebuilt. Now many feel like they are owed their due from the work they and their ancestors did in rebuilding the cities and the world beyond the cities. The Imperial Master sent out his clerics and his army to find those that left to bring them back to the cities to be our labor.”

Priya’s mouth hung open in shock. “Labor? Do we have a say in this?”

Ulan shook his head. “No. You are the third settlement I have found. One was on the distant plains, several moons journey from the city. The other was similar to yours, but built higher in the mountains.”

“You have been at it a long time,” Priya whispered.

“Aye,” muttered Ulan. “Five winters now. Whenever we bring in a new settlement, we stay through the winter, then leave again. Sometimes we are lucky and find people to bring back to the city. Other times, these trails have led to abandoned and forgotten settlements, the remaining survivors’ bones the only sign that they were ever there.”

“Do you have a family?” asked Priya.

Ulan nodded. “A wife. And a boy. Near that one’s age.” He points towards Damon.

“Do you miss them?”

Ulan’s head dropped. “Aye. But this is the way. One day, all the settlements and villages will be brought under the rule of the Imperial Master and I will be able to rest.”

Ami fidgeted on Ulan’s shoulders, signaling that she wanted down. Reaching up, Ulan grabbed her underneath her arms and set her down. She ran forward, grabbing Thekla’s hand.

Priya looked behind her and the cleric and Ulan followed her eyes. “Does he have a family?”

Ulan shook his head. “No. It is the order of the Imperial Master that no cleric would have a wife or children. Their bride is God. Their children are their flock.”

“Was he as cruel as he was with us as he is to others that you have found?”

Ulan looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice even further. “Aye. He is a cruel master. I am afraid of him. Most everyone else is as well. There was a rumor that one of his soldiers had begun studying the old gods with one of the saved and Ingolf had reported him to the Imperial Master. The soldier was hung from his heels until he died.”

“Mother’s Mercy,” Priya muttered.

Priya and Ulan continued to walk in silence for the rest of the day.

Along the path ran a rivulet, full and splashing with runoff from the winter’s snowmelt. As they passed out of the forest into a meadow, new growth had sprouted near the water, reaching out towards the sun.

Anissa and Serah went by the water and pulled up small green onions and garlic, adding them to their supply.

Priya found a patch of wild clover and bushes of rose hips. She harvested those with a swift hand, sharing the rose hips with the survivors. She offered a few to Ulan.

“What are these for?” he asked, staring at the red seed pods.

“They will help keep you healthy,” Priya replied. “They will ward off any sicknesses and keep us strong on our journey.”

Ulan nodded, putting one between his teeth and bit through it. His lips pursed at the tart aftertaste, but he put the rest in his mouth, muttering a thanks.

And on and on they went until Cleric Ingolf called a rest for the night.

Josif lifted Tahel off the horse and Priya checked his wound. It was less red and hot and hadn’t opened again on his ride, so Priya left it alone. “Take it easy tonight,” she told him and Tahel nodded.

When the archers returned with a fresh kill and a fire was started, Priya and the other survivors fell into their routines from the night before.

Priya and Galia filled up the sheeps’ bladders with fresh water and returned with a few more wild onions and garlic bulbs. They put them on rocks near the fire’s edge to slowly cook until the meat and root vegetables were ready for consumption.

They ate, they slept, and the next part of their journey was ahead of them.

On and on it went, day in and day out.

As they came down out of the higher elevations, it began to get warmer. Cloaks weren’t needed through the sun’s high points of the day. The sun felt warm on Priya’s face and was welcomed.

Springtime was a time of renewal and Priya saw evidence of it everyday: tiny plants sprouting in the earth, deer wide with child, birds returning to their nests with worms to feed their young. And she saw renewal within the survivors of their village as time wore on. Josif and Zachael walked a little bit straighter with each day, their heads no longer hung low. Serah and Anissa talked and laughed throughout the day, breaking into the occasional song praising Eusou and The Mother. The young ones always ran ahead, breaking off the path, exploring a bit before coming back covered in dirt.

Tahel’s leg had finally healed. While he still walked with a small limb, he had the same sense of endurance that he had in the vale. He no longer rode the stallion, but instead walked next to his father.

Serah’s baby was growing well. Her womb stretched out further and further with each day. Thank Eusou she was no longer sick from the baby. It kicked healthily and didn’t mind all the walking Serah was doing. As they walked, Priya kept gathering the various leaves, seeds, and flowers that made up the tea. Priya remember how they would aid the baby when it came time to come into the world and every night she made sure Serah drank a cup.

Further and further they walked.

The new discoveries they found each day made the vale a distant memory.

Priya did not talk to anyone about what Ingolf did to her. There were times where she wanted to tell her mother, but the words dried up in her mouth. She knew Anissa knew. She saw it in her eyes and she felt it in her touch when Anissa would wrap her arms around Priya. She also knew that Serah knew. Priya would catch Anissa and Serah whispering and see the look Serah gave her: pity, sadness, despairing.

She wanted to, but what point would there be in putting it into words? What did she seek by doing so? She felt their sadness. She felt her own too.

Over and over again she examined what she felt and how she felt about it. And time and time again her perception shifted. The cut on her lip had healed. The bruises had faded. But she could still feel his hands and the shock and pain when he first thrust himself into her. And she hated him for it. She burned with hate. In those moments, nothing else existed except that hate. And it scared her. It was in those moments that she felt most distant from Eusou and The Mother. Whenever she sat in the seat of her soul, looking out with the eyes of Eusou, she could see what Cleric Ingolf was and when she saw the fear in him, it made her understand him a little bit better. But the hatred would stream in and she would find herself seeking the comfort of Eusou and The Mother again. There wasn’t a balance she could strike. She could not hate as herself and love him as Eusou told her to do. It couldn’t be done. But she tried to find the balance.

“I am sorry,” Ulan told her one day as they were walking through a meadow still following the trail.

Priya let her hand run through the tall grasses, their tassels tickling her palm. She looked up, meeting Ulan’s eyes. “About what?”

“About what Ingolf did to you.”

“Oh,” Priya says and is quiet, unsure what to say.

“It should not happen, but it does.”

“Why does it happen if he is to take no wife?” Priya asks, her tone sharp and quick with anger.

“Power. Control. Fear. To make people bend. Most settlements we find don’t want to leave, but they have to, and so with every one we find, Ingolf finds someone they hold dear and breaks them. Mostly women, from what I hear. Some boys.” He pauses, silent for a moment, before adding, “I hate it.”

“So, I am not the only one?” Priya asks.

Ulan shakes his head. “No. And when we leave next spring to find the next settlement, there will be another just like you.”

“Can’t you stop him?” Priya asks.

“He acts with the authority of the Imperial Master.”

“But the Imperial Master told him to take no wife.”

“He doesn’t take them as his wife. He just takes them and then burns them alive. At least he didn’t do that to you?”

Priya looked behind her, catching the cleric watching her. “I’m sure he would still like to.”

“He can’t though,” Ulan replied. “If he moved against you, the rest of the village would revolt and he would return to the great city empty handed. At this point, he needs you.”

Priya shifted the sheep’s bladder she carried and took a long drink of water. “I have a half dozen ways to poison him in here.” She pats her satchel. “It would be easy to kill him and the other soldiers. But as much as he needs me, we need you now. You burned down everything we had and loved. We need to go to the cities with you and make our lives there.”

That night, gathered around the fire, Priya looked on as Cleric Ingolf sloppily hacked off the hand of one his soldiers. The burn it had sustained at the village had festered and even though Ingolf had cut it many times to drain the oily, milky yellow discretion, it never healed.

Ingolf picked up the severed hand by one of its digits and threw it into the fire. “This is God’s will!” he cried before retreating to his sleeping pad.

Viggo and Ulan held the man down while the other soldiers cauterized his wound with fire.

The next morning, one by one, the other soldiers came to Priya for help with their various burns, cuts and scrapes.

When Priya was able to catch Cleric Ingolf watching her as she applied salve to one of his men, she flashed him a smile.

You should have burned me when you had the chance, you son of hell.