The Black Road, Eganene
There was plenty of snow on the ground, but the wagon ride was no longer smooth. Instead, it jerked about, plummeting south as fast as Franc and Martin could make the horses go. Bekka was glad she didn’t get seasick.
She realized why the light had changed. The lanterns attached to the cabin’s uprights swung crazily. The heavy glass walls were speckled with candle wax and masked the light. The orange glow was reduced to pitiful circles that marked the walkway.
Bekka was watching the lanterns tilt, her head swaying back and forth with their movement.
Lenold elbowed her in the side.
“Oww. What?” she moaned, knocking him back.
“You’re staring.”
“So?”
“We should clean those.”
Bekka rolled her eyes. “Do what you want. They’re just going to get messed up again. I did it yesterday and look at them.”
“Tonelle won’t like it,” he muttered.
“Tonelle’s busy,” Bekka replied. “We haven’t stopped long enough for her to care. Seriously, you can’t tell me you actually think she cares about the lanterns.”
He shrugged, kicking his feet against the bunk.
Bekka sighed. “We can clean them if you want, but it seems pointless.”
“You’re probably right,” he admitted. “She doesn’t care. Not right now. I… I just wish we would stop.”
Bekka let her head rest against his shoulder. “Me, too.”
Right now, Lenold was about the only person she could handle being around. The endless days and hours had given them more than enough time to grow close to one another. She was so relieved to have a friend. “So… last time she let us out, you said something about knowing where we were.”
He shook his head. “You keep asking me for a name, Bekka, but I don’t have one. We’re not close to anything, remember? I know we’re south because of the stars.”
“Umm, hmmm,” she replied. “But we aren’t in that forest anymore. I think the trees have changed. Maybe the path is wider, too?”
“Right, because it’s the Black road.”
She wished he didn’t have to give her that look every time he answered her questions. It made her feel stupid. “OK, well… I didn’t know that. I’ve never seen it before.”
She used her fingers to comb her hair into a pile next to her chin. Maybe she could figure out how to braid her hair. She shot Lenold a glance. “Could it be a highway they shut down? I was thinking maybe it was some kind of snow emergency route, but we’re still in the forest.”
The boy picked at a hole in his pants. “I suppose.” He didn’t seem convinced. “The Black road is safer for the sled. Franc said so. He says Martin is hurrying, taking this path because it doesn’t have the rocks and the trees.”
“I thought we were hiding in those trees.”
“I don’t know what we’re doing. I’m in here with you, remember? Anyway, Franc says he’s glad we’re on this path now. He says he’s less likely to rip out the undercarriage. Did you see him last time we stopped? I don’t know how he can keep his eyes open.”
Bekka’s mind was far from Franc. “But if we did have an accident, that wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? If we can’t move, then someone could find us!”
Lenold shrugged, “I suppose, but what if it is the wrong someone? Or the Creeling?”
Bekka had to agree with that. She didn’t want to see that creature again as long as she lived. She chanced a glance at the back of the wagon, but it looked like the three new kids were still asleep. That was good, they surely needed it.
“Ok,” she tried again, giving Lenold an encouraging nod. “So you recognized the area then?”
“The mountains here look like a place I visited as a child.”
“Where was that?” she asked, not recognizing the sadness in Lenold’s voice.
He scratched at his shaggy, red hair and gave her a half smile, “You want to hear a story?”
“Oh, god, yes,” she breathed.
He knew she was bored and he was taking pity on her. She settled back against her bunk eager to hear what he would say. Lenold rarely talked about himself. She was excited to hear about his childhood, to hear about his life at all.
“My grandmother,” he started, “she was from a special place. It wasn’t too far from the place you know as Philly. Maybe a week’s journey.”
“Why was it special?”
“The mountains there are sacred. My Noni called them the Blue Mountains. She lived there in a big community. It was a safe place, a good place. I visited once with my mother when I was just a baby. I don’t remember much except for her stories.”
“But you'll tell me?” Bekka begged.
“Yes, I just wish I had been old enough to remember. My mother, she grew up in these mountains, but she had come to the city to live with my father. She says they were happy until...”
“Anyway, when things became dangerous she left the city and went back to find my grandmother. She carried me on her back in a pack and my brother walked at her side.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Bekka said.
“In the Blue Mountains,” he said, ignoring her comment, “there are metal rods driven deep into the earth. They are thick, hard metal. Big around as a man and driven far into the ground. All along the mountainside, these metal staves are positioned, strung with heavy metal cables that climb to the highest peeks.
My grandmother’s people do not know where these things came from. They did not exist when my Noni was young, but the people believe they came with the Umbilicus.”
Bekka wanted to ask what that was but she didn’t want to interrupt his story. His eyes had taken on a far away look, the kind of look people got when they were remembering something wonderful. Kids looked like that when she asked them about summer vacation or their family trip to Disneyland.
“When these metal rods and cables appeared on their mountains, my Noni’s people were scared, but it did not take long to realize their potential. The farmers in my grandmother’s community had long been fighting a vine that wrapped about their plants and choked the life from them. It covered the good leaves with wider ones.”
“In one summer, this vine fled to those metal poles and along the cables. The farmers didn’t notice. They were happy the vine was not killing the edible plants. Once the vine had grown the length of the cables, it sent out smaller vines that crossed the distance between the two thick cables.”
Lenold noticed her confused expression and said, “My mother said to imagine a ladder. The two long cables were the legs climbing the mountainside and the rungs of the ladder were the smaller vines.”
“Oh, OK,” Bekka murmured, imagining what he had described. She thought the giant metal poles sounded like chair lift poles from a ski mountain.
“Once my Noni’s people saw the potential of the vine, they began caring for it. They all helped it to grow thicker and thicker, interweaving over itself until the canopy above their head was so solid that light no longer could pierce it.”
“Why?”
“It became their roof, their shelter. My Noni’s people live beneath it, protected from rain, wind and snow. The ground, it was always dry at their feet. They even built special fireplaces with clay pipes that carried their smoke out of the canopy, leaving them fresh air to breathe.”
“That is so strange.”
“Strange, but useful. It is the perfect camouflage. Who would look inside a mat of vines for a city? My Noni’s people have been largely safe from the Family. Mostly, because the Family can’t find them. They are only vulnerable in the fall when the leaves of the vine change from a dark green to a red with gold. Or, when they go out to then their crops.”
“Why do the Family want to hurt your grandmother’s people?” Bekka asked.
Lenold shook his head with an adult sadness. “Why do they do anything?”
Bekka let the conversation drop. She had come to rely on Lenold to buoy her up. Seeing him depressed made her feel sad in a way she hadn’t expected.
Her own fears returned and she rested her shoulder against his side, content to feel the warmth through the cloth of his shirt. It was good to have someone, a living, breathing, human being who cared whether or not she lived or died. They sat together silently for a long time, just watching the lanterns sway. There wasn’t anything else to do.
When Tonelle called a halt to their movement, she gave them an hour. By the time Bekka got out of the cabin, the horses were already asleep. Lenold, Jaks and Ceril were all standing around the door of the carriage, their eyes on the forest. Bekka knew they were looking for the Creeling. It was all anyone had talked about the past few days.
She had thought a lot about the black beast. None of the children had actually seen it attack. They had all been in the carriage when horse was taken. Bekka had asked them about it and they each told her about the horrific screams they heard. But no one had actually seen anything.
Now, the evidence was there in front of her. One of the enormous Clydesdales was missing.
Her memory of the Creeling was suspect at best. She had been oxygen deprived and barely conscious. But no one else had seen the creature. No one except Kat. Bekka still wasn’t sure she trusted her. Kat would probably say whatever Tonelle told her to.
Lenold was headed towards the woods. Bekka hurried to catch him. This Black road of his didn’t look any different than the other roads she had been on, except for the heavy median that separated the lanes. Small brush and grass grew into the snowy paths, but otherwise it was a smooth.
“Why weren’t we always on this road?” Bekka asked.
“Don’t know,” Lenold shrugged. “I guess it is dangerous for its own reasons.”
The woods pressed closed to the road, the wall of evergreen brightening up the grey sky. She looked up and down its length. There were no signs, no houses, no markers of any kind.
The kids gathered wood and built a fire. Bekka had just gone to relieve herself, when the fire sprang to life behind her. She growled, frustrated that she had missed it again. She’d been trying to figure out what Kat was using to light it.
When she returned, Addi, Usif and Mika followed her about, waiting for her direction. It was exhausting. She felt bad for feeling like that, but there wasn’t anything she could do yet. Not without a plan. And the hope in their eyes was a weight that hammered at her heart.
She didn’t have to deal with it too often though. Tonelle rarely stopped the carriage now and Bekka didn’t know how the horses could continue pulling them at the pace Martin set. Sometimes, Tonelle slowed the carriages and walked the animals, but it hardly seemed often enough. The poor creatures barely slept, a couple hours at the afternoon stop, another hour in the morning. There were eleven of them now and the carriage was huge.
Too soon, everyone was headed back into the wagon. Bekka gave the horses one more look, hoping to catch a glimpse of the young man who seemed to be guarding their carriage.
During the long days, Bekka tried to encourage Mika, Usif and Addi to join the group, but they didn’t want to leave their bunks. Ceril and Jaks reported that the children spent most of their evenings whimpering and crying. Bekka felt bad for them, but there was nothing she could do right now. They needed space and time, the same as she had. So, she left them alone.
Hours passed and then days. Everyone became irritable. Confined in a small space, the kids grew bored, bothering and picking at one another. Kat was worst, sniping at everything and everyone, especially Bekka.
There was no pleasing her. The other children stopped trying, preferring instead, to remain alone in their bunks, out of sight. Bekka was unlucky enough to have the bunk beneath Kat.
But at night the dream would come for her, enveloping her in pink light and bringing her to some place familiar. Her mind knew it well, despite the fact that it was impossible. She had never been there, never seen those things. Her memories told her otherwise.
Bekka spent the majority of her time sleeping. There were too many hours to fill and the softly swaying carriage drew her down. Day after day, night after night, one moment bled into the other as the carriage traveled. Each time she closed her eyes, she dreamt the same dream. Not only that, but each time she returned she stayed longer, felt more. Her realization dawned slowly, understanding sliding forward in her mind.
She dreamt of a great feast, held in a hall with vaulted ceilings. There were several stone hearths built along the polished floor with enormous, stone cavities. There were people everywhere, guests that talked and laughed and danced.
The women were dressed in gowns that sparkled with sequins, the silken material swirling about their legs as they twirled upon the flagstone floor. The men wore handsome suits and sashes, reminding her of pictures she would seen of officers from WWI. Servants weaved throughout the crowd with white-gloved hands that held trays of wine.
At first, Bekka could not hear their voices. She was ungrounded, floating and ethereal, an observant goddess who gazed upon her charges. She was a ghost, flying above the people’s heads, unreachable and invisible. She circled those ceilings, watching, unable to hear what the people were saying, uninvolved and separate.
Candelabras burned with honey wax below her, the scent a sweet current that trailed beneath the heavy smell of hardwood. Bekka drifted lower, her insubstantial form floating along unseen waves of air. People danced beneath her, she could see them now. She strained, listening.
There, she could almost hear it. She glided closer. Yes, there it was again, she was almost close enough. She could hear it, their clinking crystal glasses, the high trills of laughter. Was that the piano she heard?
She coasted even closer, moving around the ornate grand piano that held court in the center of the room. And then, suddenly, she was part of the festivities, her slippered feet steady upon an elaborate carpet.
Bekka looked down. The body she entered was a woman’s. She raised a hand to her cheek, feeling the unfamiliar skin, the soft curve of a face. But the hand was reaching for a glass from a passing servant, not obeying her command, although it had seemed so at first.
She was in a body, but it was not hers to direct. She took a sip of wine, the red warming a throat that was not hers, heating her body and tasting like spring, spices and more. Her hand trailed downward, almost unconsciously, to stroke hair as fine as down, caressing a soft cheek.
Bekka saw a sleeping infant, nestled in warm blankets. The child rested in a small-wheeled crib at the woman’s side. Warmth flooded through the woman’s body, filling Bekka.
Her spirit was almost overwhelmed by the intensity. It was love, a pink heat that filled her. Bekka’s soul swelled.
She understood that she had no limbs and no hands to touch the sensation, yet the warmth spread through her. It was like a fire filling a cold house, the air warming slowly, the heat building. If she had eyes, she would have closed them. If she could have stopped time, lived forever in that single moment, she would have done it.
There was no question in her mind, she had found her mother.
She woke with a start, her hands grasping the cold air, searching. She hugged herself, wishing for that pink light, for that warmth of moments before. It might have been a dream, but that child had been her. She had been loved, cared for and adored.
Lying on her bed, she ground her teeth together in frustration. She had a thousand questions and no one to ask. Why was she having these dreams? Why were they always the same?
She asked Ceril and Lenold. They thought what was happening to her was normal, that she was just scared and missed her parents.
The days passed slowly. During the day, she found other things to think about. She asked Ceril and Lenold a thousand questions about their homes and their families. Half their answers made no sense and trying to reconcile what they believed to be true and what she experienced was impossible. And at night, her dreams took her where they pleased, back to that hall, always to that hall.
Bekka lay back down, resigned. For all the time she spent sleeping over the last few days, she didn’t feel rested. She had begun to look like Franc and Tonelle, with their glassy, exhausted eyes.
But she had hope. After all the nights not sleeping, she was sure to sleep well tonight. Exhaustion would claim her and then she wouldn’t dream. She was conflicted about that. She kind of liked the dreams, liked seeing her mother and father.
But reoccurring dreams didn’t begin to explain what she was experiencing-- how every night it was the same, how she kept going back to that same great hall, with the same people, for the same party. She had never had a repetitive dream like that. Not for days and days on end, everything identical.
“Goodnight, dear,” the voice whispered.
Bekka rolled over, ignoring it. She was so very tired. Back against the mattress, she breathed slowly, feeling the sway of the carriage. She closed her eyes. The glow from the lantern’s candle illuminated the back of her eyelids, but it was only a matter of time.
There had been too many sleepless nights and she was tired and desperate. She counted backwards from one hundred, waiting to fall into the black pit of dreamlessness. Her head was pressed into the pillow, her hair framing her pale face.
Again, it was the feast. She had been here before. This was where she came, every night, every time. She saw the immense fresco that encompassed the ceiling where she floated. Its tiny shards were clustered, grouped to form the image. In life, she had never seen something so beautiful.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
In the dream, she was too close to see the picture. Hundreds of broken shards glowed, the colored, mirrored surfaces reflecting the light below. When she was grounded, she would see the picture, the thirteen people interlocking hands around a girl, the white light washing from their bodies to surround her. The golden circlet on her brow would glow with brightness.
Her mother’s body was waiting below, a soft, warm, secure place for her spirit to fill. Bekka closed eyes she did not have, relaxed limbs she did not possess and floated down. Caroline reached for the glass of wine and Bekka tried, tugged, fought for the hand that she thought of as her own. She wanted it to obey her, to move differently than she knew it would.
It did not, but grasped the glass and her mother drunk deeply. Bekka could feel her hands, could feel her fingers. They moved without the woman. Her own hands reached out for the sleeping infant, touched the babe’s hair, and caressed the soft skin.
It was her! Her own body nestled tightly in the blankets below. Bekka bore down, fighting, pushing to make her ephemeral body do as she bid.
The child did not stir. Her touch was as wind, a light passing breeze, but even less. She was a ghost in this time, a passing spirit who saw and felt all that happened, but could influence nothing. Frustration burned through her.
She was here!
Her mother was alive, speaking, moving. She ached to step out and gaze upon her mother’s face. Time and again she tried to do just that, to see her eyes, to feel her hug, but on each occasion she was drawn back harshly, as though she had moved from where she belonged and the vacuum of time was sucking her back.
She looked around, seeing the place where her parents had lived. She saw her father, handsome in a suit of white cloth. His hair was not as black as hers, but touched with red. It was agony being this close, steps away from an embrace she longed for all her life.
This was her father! The man who had given her life, the man she could not remember meeting. Here he lived and breathed. Here he had loved her.
She watched her father’s profile. She was invisible. He turned towards her then, his eyes sparkling as he smiled. Bekka felt her mother return the grin, her heart beating faster, her body unconsciously bending towards his.
Bekka looked away. She couldn’t take any more. The sight of them happy, with her at their side, was too much. It was all she had ever wanted. Countless daydreams, thousands of real dreams, they were nothing in the light of this truth.
Her parents had loved her and they had been happy together. Where was this life that should have been hers? Where was the happiness that so obviously shone in their faces and beat in her mother’s heart? She had lived all these years without even the memory of this life.
It hurt to see it and she turned, forcing her mother’s palpable contentment away. Instead, Bekka sought her grandmother. She was so young! Standing there, deep in conversation, she had a wine glass in her hand. Bent towards a woman in a great, green dress, her grandmother was listening intently, her body leaning forward, her red lips open as though to utter something important.
Time sped, increased, shifted. A man had come to speak to her mother, his body blocking her view. He was worn looking, his face gaunt, his fat lips speaking words she could not hear. The man was upset, showing her mother his wrist. Red marks striped his flesh. It was the imprint of a hand.
As her mother spoke words, Bekka concentrated, desperate to know why her heart was beating so quickly. Why was this man bothering her mother on such as perfect evening? Why was he ruining Bekka’s new found sense of peace?
She pushed her consciousness forward, like she was shoving herself through a wall of hardened jelly. Her weight or substance pressed at this wall, her ethereal body tight against its confines.
She broke though.
Sound hit her like a flood. Noise, music, talk, it ripped at her brain. Hers had been a world of tranquility, a world of movement without sound. Now, she was lost, drowning, inundated. The din was unimaginable.
From sweet nothingness came a roar that made her blanch. Outside of her mother’s body, she fell to her knees.
Glasses clinked and a thousand needles exploded in her skull, rendering thought impossible. A woman laughed nearby, the high trill sending shockwaves through her. Bekka clasped her hands to her ears, but the laugh washed over her, shattering her idea of self.
And then she was above. It happened instantly, without thought. She was suspended again in the silence of the ceiling. Below, the soundless party wore on. Had she had lungs, she would have sighed in relief. Whatever the man had been saying was surely not worth the pain of sound, that harsh ripping and tearing her soul had experienced. Bekka had no words to describe it. There was no self left in that uproar, no soul left in the commotion.
She was without a body, a being afloat in someone else’s perception. Without thought, she did not exist.
There was no thought in that clamor.
Bekka propelled herself downward to her mother’s body. Caroline was making a toast to several tables filled with perhaps a hundred people. From inside, she felt her mother smile at the assembled crowd, who returned her toast.
A nursemaid handed baby Bekka to Caroline, the infant struggling to nuzzle itself into her mother’s neck. Caroline’s heart beat faster as she held the child. Bekka was almost swept away with the cascading waves of warmth.
Caroline held out the baby, saying a few words that were lost in the silent void where Bekka’s soul rested, floating upon currents of emotion. She wondered what had been said. The people all stood, shouting as one, toasting, laughing and drinking.
She was safe here, bundled inside the blanket of her mother’s body. She could feel her mother’s love. True, it was directed towards the sleeping infant against her chest, but surely that was the same. Bekka was the baby, after all.
She never wanted to leave. She had been in the dream longer than ever before. She felt like her soul was whole, as though it had been broken and empty before like a chipped porcelain bowl. She had been renewed, the missing pieces glued and the vessel fillable once again. She wished she hadn’t spent so much of the dream floating about the ceiling, outside this cocoon.
The seconds ticked by. Bekka’s dread grew. Soon, too soon, she would be snatched away, torn once more from her mother’s embrace. As if her thoughts gave it life, the room began to turn about her. At first it seemed as though she were slowly turning in place, seeing each and every person in the room only for an instant as she rotated. But the faces lost their definition as her speed increased. Flesh or cloth, candlelight or eyes, it was impossible to understand.
Bekka fought to stay, to grasp her mother’s hand, to hold on to the one thing she had always wanted. Her fingers grasped nothing, sliding through her mother’s palm as she was spun out, screaming to remain.
“Bekka!” the boy said in the darkness. He was holding her hand.
She opened her eyes, the swinging lantern above her confirming the worst.
She was back. “I’m all right,” she muttered, rolling to face the wall.
Lenold perched himself on the side of her bed. He kept his voice just above a whisper, “Nightmares? Again? I thought you said they were just dreams.”
Bekka nodded to the darkness. “They were. I…I don’t know. This one felt like a memory.”
“A scary memory?” he asked, sounding sympathetic.
Bekka sat up, but she left her hand in Lenold’s. “Sort of. It’s hard to explain. It is like it isn’t my memory, but I’m there and I can see it.”
“I used to have nightmares, too,” he confided in a whisper. “Mostly about running.”
Bekka turned back towards him. In the darkness he had no pimples, was not a wiry boy of fifteen. “What were you running from?”
He laughed softly, but there was no joy in it. “Pretty much everything. I wasn’t scared. It wasn’t that. I knew what would happen if they caught me.”
“Tonelle and Martin?”
“No, the others. The Family,” his voice dropped to a softer whisper. “I heard stories of them taking kids to some place.”
He waved his hand, “It isn’t like this. They don’t care if you live or die. Tonelle, she needs to sell us. She wants us healthy and alive. The other people, they don’t.”
“But why?” Bekka asked confused. “If they are taking kids to sell then…”
“They weren’t taking them for that.”
“For what, then?”
He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “I don’t know, but those kids never came back. Never got sold.”
“That’s why you aren’t upset about being with Tonelle?” Bekka couldn’t help keeping the bitterness out of her voice.
“Yeah. I would rather be here. The Family won’t take me from her.”
Bekka squeezed his hand and lay back down. Lenold sat beside her, letting the silence stretched on. Neither of them spoke. He didn’t return to his bunk and Bekka was grateful. Soon, pink and orange began to invade the darkness of the doorway, the spreading tentacles of color burning back the dark, slipping inside her prison. When it was light enough to see, Bekka chanced a glance at Lenold.
The boy’s eyes were hidden. He was fast asleep. Bekka thanked him soundlessly and then nudged him with her elbow. “It’s almost morning.”
“Ok,” he muttered, climbing out of her bunk and stretching.
Bekka envied the way he swayed with the wagon. Every time she stood up, she was in danger of falling over. “Do you think we’ll stop soon? I thought Tonelle said we would stop in the morning.”
Lenold nodded. “It will be soon. Daylight is safer. The sun just came up, I bet they are looking for a good spot.”
The other children were waking and in moments the wagon was the picture of industry, everyone going about his or her chores. In some way, the bustle was soothing; the monotony had become a comfortable routine. Bekka had a place here, one that she didn’t like, but a function nonetheless. There wasn’t much to do, but they all did it carefully, trying their hardest to extend the time so that they didn’t have to go back to being bored.
As she did every morning, Bekka wished for a real toothbrush. She used grainy bark to rub her teeth clean now, but each piece was disposable and made her mouth raw and bloody. Furthermore, she tasted wood until breakfast. There was neither a sink nor a mirror, so she used a little of the water in the drinking bucket. Most of the children looked at her like she had two heads, but Ceril had asked her what she was doing and now rubbed her own teeth in the morning.
“Tree-mouth,” came the comment from above, apparently Kat had woken in a good mood. She only ribbed Bekka when she was in good spirits, the rest of the time she hardly spoke at all.
“Yes, Kat?” Bekka asked meeting the girl’s eyes. It seemed like lately they were always in a staring contest. Bekka won sometimes. The days when she lost were not pleasant, but she refused to keep her eyes down. The test of wills could last minutes or seconds, but if Bekka lost, Kat would follow her around, ordering her to do this or that.
Bekka figured that it was just her way of making sure everyone knew she was still in charge. Bekka didn’t understand, since she didn’t mind helping. But Kat just made up random tasks and it was all just a waste of time. Once, Bekka had folded and refolded everything in every one of the trunks. This morning, Bekka didn’t have the strength for the fight and looked to the floor.
“Get water,” Kat directed and then lay back down in her bed.
Bekka stifled a bitter comment. She made her way to the front of the cabin and put on her shoes. After she had rapped three times on the wall, she moved to the door.
Light peeked from beneath its frame. Minutes passed, one after another, as she watched the door. Tonelle would stop the carriage when she was ready, but Kat expected her to stand and wait, so that was what she would do. It wasn’t worth the argument and Bekka didn’t have anything better to do anyway. Eventually, she heard a series of whistles, code passed from their wagon to Tonelle’s.
The light from beneath the door was fully white when the carriage finally slowed to a stop. They must have found a good spot for breakfast. Franc opened the door, his brown eyes bloodshot. The boy got to rest once they stopped. He had been awake for twenty-four hours.
“Long night,” he said in way of greeting.
Bekka nodded, ignoring his outstretched hand and leapt from the door. Her knees bent to absorb the impact and she landed in the marshy, snow-covered grass. The jump was only four feet, but Bekka took pride in being able to do it herself.
Franc handed her the pails as he went inside, she supposed he was skipping breakfast this morning. She didn’t blame him. He had to be exhausted and the food was awful now. They hadn’t stopped to hunt. Kat would boil some tea though, which Bekka had come to savor.
She glanced at the horses. Hopefully, they would be here long enough to light a fire. Martin was walking among the animals, disconnecting the yokes and taking the bits out of their mouths. The animals looked spent. From here, she could see their bridles were frothy with saliva. The front of their bodies and the insides of their legs dark were with sweat. Bekka watched as one after another lay down in the snow. A few folded their legs gently beneath them, but most just lowered their heads and rolled over on their sides.
Martin’s children exited his wagon, their little heads twisting around as they searched the tree line. They were probably as terrified of whatever had taken the horse as she was. Quickly, they pulled blankets out of the carriage and placed one on each of the sleeping animals and used brushes to rub down the animals’ coats.
The boy was supervising again. He stood with his bow, his head swiveling. The air was still crisp for spring. Bekka shivered and hugged her arms closer to her body, her pails ringing noisily. Beneath her feet there seemed to be some younger, pale, green grass amongst the dead brown blades. Warmer temperatures had to be on the way, although there were no leaves on the trees.
She could tell they had traveled a good distance. The woods looked different than the ones near Philly. She was further south. She found a stream and filled her pails. The water was cold and clear. The trip back was harder of course, but her arms had grown stronger and it was no worse today than any other day. Back at the wagons, she was surprised to see the fire pit already dug and deadwood stacked around it.
Lenold was finishing the pile, Adison, Usif and Mika searching for wood along the tree line. She wondered if they were impatient with her. She’d promised them….
“There you are!” Lenold said when he saw her approach. “Thought you had run off.” He said it with a smile, but his grin died before it was truly born.
Bekka’s face crumpled. She dropped down on the large stone beside the fire, her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t even thought of escape, hadn’t even been looking around to plan where to hide, how best to search for help. She’d just gone and fetched water.
I’m never going to get out of here! she thought, dejectedly. I’m not even trying anymore.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Lenold said. “Honestly. Who knows where that beast is?” He pointed at the tree line. “It could be up there, for all we know. I wouldn’t want to be alone around here. You would be an easy a target.”
He brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Is that not it? Are you still upset about the dream?”
Bekka shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it. She was angry. Angry at herself, angry at everything. She watched Lenold try and start the fire with a few pieces of wood. Bekka watched a few small tendrils of smoke rise. It seemed like her hope was drifting away.
How was she supposed to get out of here, if she wasn’t even looking for her chance? Was it that creature? Was that why she didn’t want to run? Was it because she wouldn’t have been able to take the three boys? She felt her stomach slide. Did she feel safe here, too? Just like Lenold? It made her feel sick to think about it.
Did that mean she believed the other kids about being owned? She kicked at the snow at her feet. Everyone had been telling her the same thing. And Mika, Usif and Addi had surely been mistreated. There weren’t any holes in their story, excepting, of course, that it was absolutely impossible.
But if she ignored that for a moment, then they were all consistent.
Everything she had seen supported their story. She listed the evidence.
One: her building had been empty. No people. None of her things. Even Arthur’s desk had been deserted. The whole place had looked like it hadn’t been lived in in years. Two: Billy. She didn’t even want to think about him, but he had been convinced she wasn’t from “around here.” Three: Martin and Tonelle bought her and thought they were taking her to some place called Orlenia. Four: Ceril and Lenold were kind to her and were convinced she was a owned, too. Five: That thing she saw in the woods, that creature that didn’t make sense and couldn’t exist in her world.
So what did that mean? That she wasn’t in her world at all? That somehow, someway, she was somewhere else?
“Yes,” said the voice. “Now you understand.”
“Get out of my way,” Kat said.
Bekka flinched. She hadn’t noticed her approach. Kat stood behind Lenold, her yellow eyes narrowed. The boy’s hands stopped their spinning, the small smoke dissipating.
“I can do it,” he said, softly, his eyes focused upon the wood.
Kat laughed, a rich sound in the morning quiet. A few birds echoed her call, fluttering up from a nearby tree. “Move. I’ll not wait on you.”
Bekka felt a jolt. She didn’t know why everyone feared Kat, but she hadn’t heard one of the other kids disagree with her yet. Why was Lenold picking a fight with her? And why was Kat offering to help. She knew the Kat could light the fire in seconds, but had never seen her do it. It was uncommon for her to volunteer to do anything. Caught between wanting to see this feat and Lenold’s obvious discomfort, she said nothing.
The small boy shook his head. “I’m going to light it today.” His voiced wavered as he said. Had he used a commanding tone, Kat might not have reacted as she did.
Her foot lashed out from beneath her dress, catching him on his thigh and spilling him into the snowy mud. As he wiped his face, Kat looked down at him.
She spread he hands daintily, “I told you to move.”
Lenold glanced at Bekka, his pimples turning scarlet. She thought he might say something. There was an odd light in his eyes, anger and humiliation warring for control. He was looking at her like she had betrayed him.
“Get out of here and wash-up,” Kat commanded, pointing back towards where Bekka had found the stream. “And you three,” she waved a dark hand at the new boys. “Grab the laundry and set to it. There will be no food for you if it is not done by leaving-time.”
The three rushed to obey, almost tripping over one another in their haste to reach the wagon first. Bekka winced inwardly at what their poor feet must feel like. Lenold stood slowly and took a few steps towards Kat. His jaw was locked and his hands were clenched. Kat just stood there, watching him. They stood there for several moments.
Bekka’s hands balled into fists at her side, her mouth opening to cheer him on. Realizing, she shut it. She couldn’t interrupt, not now. It might make him lose his concentration. Internally, she cheered. Kat was a bully. She just couldn’t believe it was Lenold sticking up to her!
Lenold broke the silence. Bekka watched him swallow once, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down inside his throat. His voice was rough, but he said the words, “You will not do that again.”
Bekka smiled. She wanted to hug him, but sat still, watching instead.
“Oh, really,” Kat said. She shook her head, her beads clinking. “Why do you think so?”
Lenold took another pace forward, his muddy face inches from her. “I’m tired of you telling us what to do. You don’t own us. You will not do that again.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Lenold shook his head. “I want it known that I gave you a warning. People shouldn’t be treated like animals. You don’t have any right to do these things.”
Lenold was standing with his back to fire pit, blocking most of Bekka’s view, but she saw Kat’s hand come up. The girl’s slender fingers spread out.
It began as colorless waves. Bekka blinked her eyes, confused. She couldn’t be seeing what she was seeing. It was like invisible smoke, like heat rising from the highway or the waves of visible motion she could see behind a plane or a jet.
What was she seeing? What was happening?
It looked like the waves were coming from Kat. The Power sped forward, the air shimmering with its passage. Like a silk scarf caught by the breeze, the energy stretched out, undulating. Orange and yellow stitched their way across this fabric, patterns forming within, the color seeping from Kat’s fingers.
Bekka froze, too surprised to breathe. She couldn’t be seeing this! Her mouth was open in a silent, O. Lenold was still staring at Kat, locked in his war of wills. Bekka looked around. There was no one else. She was the only one who could see Kat’s hand, see the gentle movements she was making.
Red and black followed the lighter waves, their passage more jagged, cutting across the curving patterning, a continuous series of V-shaped turns, uneven and asymmetrical. At its end, the fabric began to spin, like ribbons on the tail of a kite, round and round, faster and faster, until the pattern was lost in the motion.
Bekka held her eyes wide, unable to see it all.
Suddenly, sparks exploded from the tail and the wood from the fire ignited. Bekka jumped back. Before her, the fire Lenold had built crackled nicely. Bekka looked around surprised. Where had all that energy gone? Surely, there should be thousands of sparks raining down upon them.
Lenold turned slowly, excited that the fire was already lit.
“You see!” he exclaimed. “I knew I could do it. All I needed was a little time.”
“What makes you think it was you?” Kat sneered.
“Well, you didn’t do it. You just got here!”
Kat laughed. “You are a stupid, boy. Go wash up.”
Lenold folded his arms. “I’m going to do that because I want to. You just remember what happened here. Remember how I lit the fire.”
He turned and without glancing back at Bekka, took off for the stream. At the same time, she realized Kat was watching her as she stood there.
“What are you staring at?”
“What did you do?” Bekka asked, the words spilling from her mouth. “I’ve never seen anything like that. How did you do it?”
“What are you talking about?” There was acid in Kat’s voice.
The fire was crackling, warming the side of Bekka’s leg. The orange and yellow flames looked normal, like every other fire. She had a hundred questions, but Kat looked furious.
Bekka gestured at the fire, “I saw what you did. Why didn’t Lenold see?”
Kat appraised her, her yellow eyes no longer narrowed. “What did you see?”
Bekka shrugged. “I don’t think I could explain it. It was like you were sewing energy and then it spun and made fire. I…it was beautiful. What…?”
Kat hissed, looking around wildly and closed the distance between them. “Quiet!”
“What?” Bekka asked concerned, her eyes scanning the forest wall. “Did you see something?” Her heart skipped a few beats. Was the creature back?
“Later. We'll talk later,” Kat said, her long braids swinging. “We can’t talk now. You must not tell anyone what you have seen.”
Bekka had never seen Kat display the slightest uncertainty before. It was terribly disturbing. As she opened her mouth, the other girl clamped a warm hand over her jaw. Her fingers were strong, biting into the flesh of Bekka’s throat.
“Listen to me,” she growled. “Do not say what you have seen. It could mean your life!”
Bekka felt her eyes go wide. She couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe. Kat’s fingers dug in to her face more harshly.
“Nod if you understand. I won’t risk my life for yours! I’m only going to give you this one chance, sister.”
Bekka swallowed and nodded carefully. She didn’t understand what was going on, but the threat in Kat eyes was clear.
“We will talk later. I will find you. If you betray me, I’ll see to it that you wish you had never been born.”
The older girl stood, arched her shoulders and marched back to the cabin.
Relief swept through Bekka. She couldn’t walk, did not dare to follow the girl into the wagon. She would wait here for Lenold, he would know…
But she couldn’t ask him. Kat’s threat had been explicit. She could tell no one. She huddled beside the fire, feeling its warmth against her face. She couldn’t believe how quickly Kat has reacted. The girl had been furious, threatening her. But why? What Bekka had seen her do had been beautiful, she had said as much.
Was she worried that Bekka would tell someone? That had to be it. Kat was scared. She must think someone was going to hurt her if they found out about her secret. Bekka shook her head. What she had done had been so beautiful, why would someone hurt her for it?
But what was it? Bekka wondered, shaking her head. What had she seen? It wasn’t in her head. She wasn’t crazy or hallucinating. Kat had known what she was talking about, what she had seen. She hadn’t denied it.
Then what was it, some kind of magic?
“Exactly,” said the voice in her head.
But how could it be magic? Bekka thought back. Lost in thought, she didn’t even realize she was talking to herself.
“The better question is why you can see it,” the voice replied.
How could she see it? No one else could. Only Lenold had been in a place where he might have been able to see what she was doing. The rest of the kids had been in the woods or the carriage. Even the guard hadn’t been in a good spot. Kat’s body would have blocked his line of sight.
Kat was always the one in charge of lighting the fire. Was this how she did it? Why hadn’t anyone seen her do magic? If she was upset that Bekka knew about it, then why was she doing it out where every one could see her?
Bekka was desperate to find out more, but she didn’t think she should follow Kat back to the wagon. Kat had said that she would “find” her when she was ready. Obviously, whatever she had done was a big secret and Kat wasn’t comfortable with Bekka knowing it. The girl had been mean and rude to her since Tonelle had purchased her from Billy.
“But she called you sister,” the voice inside her head said helpfully.
Ceril and Jaks were just coming out of the wagon. Jaks was holding the cooking pot and Ceril’s arms were filled with food. That meant they would be staying for a while. That was good. She didn’t want to be back in the carriage with Kat until she had a chance to think this all through.
Why had Kat called her “sister”? Bekka didn’t think she had ever heard her say that before, not to anyone else, and definitely not to her. Was it because she was able to see her do magic when no one else could? Bekka bit her lip thinking. She had to figure it out. She had to know what Kat had done.