West of Baltine, Eganene

They left at first light, the girl a few steps behind, placing her feet into the holes he made in the snow. The sky had dawned grey and he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. A little sunlight might have cheered him.

“Carl!”

It took him awhile to get the hang of it. The girl had short legs and he moved too fast for her. Every time he lapsed into his usual pace, she’d call out, her voice clear, “Carl!”

He stopped, waiting for her. “I’m hungry.”

“All right. I’ll find us some breakfast, but you’ll need to be patient.”

She nodded.

“And you’ll need to tell me your name.”

She looked at him seriously, her eyes wide, “Why?”

“I’ve got to call you something other than girl, don’t you think?”

“I am a girl.”

Carl laughed. He hadn’t felt this good in some time. He didn’t care if it was his imagination or if the girl had done something strange to him. And to be honest, he didn’t really want to think about it. Different peoples had different customs. Why assume anything until the kid told him where she was from.

“Follow my tracks, I’m going to scout ahead and see if I can find some food.”

He could tell she wasn’t happy about being left alone, but she nodded.

Carl kept his eyes on the snow. There were many tracks, none fresh. He followed them to the edge of the wood where the brush grew along the border between field and forest. The plants had spiky leaves that protected tight bunches of inedible, red berries. He climbed through them carefully.

Inside the woods, he paused to let his eyes adjust. There was a downed tree in front of him, and he stepped over it, listening to the gurgle of a stream concealed beneath a layer of snow. A flash of red erupted from a nearby branch and he ignored it.

He traveled in the shadows, slow and precise, his moccasins almost silent. Finally, he saw something big enough to eat. He pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Softly, he crept forward. Turkeys were not stupid birds. If they recognized danger, they’d take to the tops of the pines. Getting a clean shot through pine was not an easy task. He wanted to take one on the ground.

There were at least a dozen of them, the females small and brown. The male was more impressive with metallic feathers that ended in crescents of white. He wanted to take the male. Neither he nor the girl would be hungry after that.

The birds were headed in his direction, so he took cover behind a tree trunk and waited. Minutes passed. The wind was in his favor, blowing towards him. When his target was close enough, he centered his balance and drew back on his string. It bit into his fingers, through his glove.

Carl waited for the right shot and loosed the arrow. He didn’t bother to draw another. He felt good.

Retracing his steps with the dressed bird at his hip, he smiled. It was a better day, and he was relieved to be far from Baltine. Away from the dead, his head was clear. He and the girl would make town tonight.

A child’s scream erupted into the forest, the sound warbling as if it were wrenched from her throat.

Heat flooded through him, and Carl didn’t stop to consider, but ran for her.

Family? Had someone found Jasper’s body?

He should have doubled back, checked for pursuit. But the girl was exhausted.

He should have been more careful! If the Family suspected Carl had killed Jasper and Tran, they’d hunt him. He beat himself mentally. If that poor, sweet child had been harmed...

At the top of the hill, he skidded to a stop, his lungs gasping as he searched. She was down in the field with a man. Carl couldn’t tell who he was from here, but he was dressed in leathers. His heart skipped a beat.

Not Family, then, a Hunter.

Carl raised his arm in salute, and both the man and child waved back. He felt the tension drain from his back.

When he got close, the child took a few steps towards him, her face contorting. It almost looked as if she wanted him to pick her up.

He knelt down in front of her and met her eyes. “It’s all right, girl.”

Carl knew the Hunter. The man was tall and thin with a narrow nose and bushy beard. “Kassam,” he said, with a smile.

“You always leave your kids alone?” his friend asked, clasping his arm.

“It’s good to see you!” Carl returned. “How’ve you fared?”

“Well, enough, by the gods.”

“It’s been a season since I saw you.”

“True, I’ve been west,” the younger man grinned. “How’s it you’ve got yourself a child to follow you around?”

Carl’s grin slid off his face, “Nasty business.” He paused, considering, “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Of course.”

Carl changed the subject, “What brings you out this way? You’re a fair bit off the path.”

“Another story for another time,” Kassam replied, pointed at the bird at Carl’s waist. “You planning on lunch, then?”

The bird was big enough for three. “Sure, but you’re making the fire. I’ve had enough of hauling wood. Come on, the forest is close. You headed to Faenella?”

Kassam kept his eyes on the girl. “Is that where you’re headed?”

“Should make it by night fall,” Carl supplied.

While Kassam gathered the wood, Carl knelt beside the child. “It’s all right, you know. He’s a friend of mine.”

The girl shook her head, her eyes haunted. “He asked me my name.”

“Of course he did. That’s how we greet each other around here.”

She shrugged, her tiny shoulders barely rising above the neck of his coat.

“I told you my name, didn’t I?” he prompted. “I need to know yours if I’m going to help you.”

“But you are helping me.”

Were all children this difficult?

Either she was still frightened of him or maybe her customs were different. “Really, child,” he said, “tell me your name.”

“My mother told me to never tell. Never, never. Someone might hurt me.”

“Why would anyone want to hurt you?”

The child’s body shook gently and he realized she was crying. He took the blanket out of his pack and placed it on the ground. “Why don’t you lay down for a bit? I’ll wake you for lunch.” She was asleep before Kassam returned.

Carl helped his friend build the fire and spit the bird. When it was done, Kassam sat and began turning the green wood. “What happened to her?” he asked, softly.

“Bandits,” he replied in a low voice. “They killed her family, an entire carriage. I counted nine dead, although there were probably more. I couldn’t count them all.” He didn’t mention that they were Family.

Kassam grimaced, his black eyes concerned, “I don’t want to ask.”

“Don’t, then. I’ve got no explanation.”

“A sadness.”

Carl nodded. “Worse than bad, my friend. There was nothing but limbs and pieces.”

“Hilla Guran,” his friend prayed.

Carl glared out at the forest.

“The outlaws are everywhere,” Kassam commiserated. “My travel home was filled with sad sights.”

“You went to visit your family?” Carl asked, curious. Most Hunters stayed in one location, learning the woods that surrounded a village and providing them with safety and game.

Kassam waved off his query, “Too many questions. What’ll you do with the girl?”

“Bring her back to Jamison, I suppose. I tried to get her to tell me where she was from, but she won’t answer. She won’t even tell me her name. How am I supposed to help her if she won’t tell me anything?”

Kassam shrugged, “She seems to like you.”

“Maybe, but she still needs to tell me where she’s from.”

“Perhaps not. She may not have any family to be returned to.”

“She said they were dead, but all of them?”

“These are bad times, my friend. Trouble grows. West there is a terrible sickness. When I left to come back east, it was claiming one of five. It’s something new and everyone is scared. Perhaps these people were fleeing from something such as this.”

“Or,” Kassam continued, spinning the meat, “perhaps they were running from somebody. There are more people in the woods than there should be.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Carl let that train of conversation die. If their views differed on the Family, then it was possible they’d part as friends no more. “She has to have someone left,” he maintained. “Even a distant relation would take her in.”

“I hope, for your sake. Otherwise, what’ll you do?”

“If only I knew. It’s not like I can keep her. I stay with friends or at the Inn when I’m in town. I’ve not even a roof to hide her under while I figure this out. Jamison will know what to do.”

“He won’t take her.”

“I know, but he might know someone who will. The woods are no place for a little girl.”

“No, you’re right about that. And you’ll need your jacket back at some point, won’t you? You can’t sleep in the cold without a coat forever.”

Carl smiled, “If you’re making the fires, I’ll be all right.”

“I’m headed south in a few months, you won’t have me building fires for you then. That is, unless you’re headed south, as well.”

“No, I’m happy here. I can’t understand why you can’t keep to one place,” Carl joked.

Kassam’s face turned serious, color rising in his dusky cheeks, “Sure you do.”

Carl nodded. He thought about telling Kassam the words that Jasper had spoken, but decided against it.

Once the girl woke and ate, they made good time to Faenella. Kassam took his pack and Carl carried the girl in his arms. He was surprised she didn’t wake when he lifted her.

There was another hour of light left when they saw Faenella and smelled smoke and roasting meat. Kassam left him, promising to meet later at the Inn, and Carl headed to the Bounty office.

The child woke and he set her down. She walked close to his side, her blue eyes wide, taking in all the sights. He wondered if the town was very strange to her, if it was different from where she was born.

The center of Faenella was clustered with homes, the land cleared for a good distance. In Carl’s travels he’d seen less forested areas where people lived further from one another and each man had his own field.

That wasn’t possible in this part of the country. The forest was too dense and safety was a concern. People weren’t the only predators in these woods. He and the other Hunters spent time doing what they could on that count, but it was still safer in numbers. There was Family in the woods, too, but those monsters did what they wanted no matter who was around. The best people could hope for was a witness.

Carl double-checked the forest line. Once he found somewhere for the girl, he’d take a last sweep of the woods and sleep better knowing the area was clear. The child stopped walking and Carl crouched in front of her.

“This is my town, girl,” he explained. “These people are my friends, almost like my family. They won’t hurt you, I promise.” He pointed to where children were playing with a leather ball, “Look there. You see them? You’re safe here. It’s a good town, full of good people.”

The kids were young, maybe six or seven. The older children would be helping their parents, either pulling in firewood or cleaning up from the day’s work. Carl’s stomach grumbled as he coaxed the girl on. The smell in the air was the combined effort of all the cook fires in the village preparing the night’s meals. He needed to find Jamison and get himself something to eat.

The walk was a short one, and the girl kept her hood pointed towards the cottages. A few people offered their hellos, but Carl waved them on with a nod. He couldn’t stay and chat. They’d be interested in the child’s story, and he’d nothing he wanted to tell them. All the way across the Market clearing and up the hill to the Bounty Master’s cottage, the girl stayed within touching distance of his leg.

“Glad you’re back,” Jamison grumbled as Carl pushed open the door. The cottage was small with a fire dancing in the hearth. Parchment adorned all the walls, sometimes with pictures, sometimes only with words, but all were dry. One day the whole place was going to go up in flames.

“Who’s this, then?” the man at the desk asked, noticing the girl. His enormous eyebrows furrowed like bushy, white caterpillars.

Carl dropped into a chair. The girl stood behind him, eclipsed from view. “She won’t tell me her name. There was a carriage that stopped at the falls a little more than a day’s walk north of here and a few miles west of Baltine. She was the only survivor.”

“Um, hum,” the older man grimaced. “Bad business. I’m sorry, girl.” Jamison’s face was clean-shaven, and Carl watched him scratch at it uneasily. The poor man preferred his beard, but his wife disagreed. Every so often, Jamison was forced to shave. He was in a terrible mood until it grew back.

The child didn’t reply.

“Well, since Carl was nice enough to bring you here, I’m guessing it’s likely he’ll bring you back to your kin. Won’t you Carl?”

He nodded.

“Where’s she from?”

“She won’t tell me her name or her town,” he supplied. “To be honest, she hardly says much at all.”

“Is she dumb? Something wrong with her?”

Carl shook his head, feeling the child press close. She was terrified, but Jamison wasn’t going to hurt her. Her tiny shudders vibrated against his back, and he fought the urge to pick her up and hold her. He didn’t think she’d let him.

“No, she’s fine. Isn’t a scratch on her and she does speak. Just not often.”

Jamison huffed, setting aside the papers he had been holding and regarding Carl seriously. “So what are you going to do with her?”

Carl frowned, “I was hoping you would know what to do.”

“Me? What do I know about children?”

“If I remember correctly, you’ve three of your own.”

“Sure and seven grandchildren, but I won’t take her from you.”

“Surely Karen would...”

Jamison slashed his hand through the air. “Karen would take her in an instant. But we’ve enough going on as it is. There’s not even a place for her to sleep.”

“She wouldn’t take much room, look how small she is!”

“Carl,” the older man warned, “we’ve got Jess and her family sleeping on the floor. Lauren and her brood sleep in here. We don’t have room, and that’s the last word on it.”

He should have known better than to ask Jamison to take her in, but he didn’t have any other ideas. There were plenty of people he knew in town, but none he was friendly enough with to ask them to take the child. He nodded to Jamison to let him know he understood and went to stand by the fire, letting the heat warm his back and legs. The girl sat by his feet, the hood of his coat pulled over her head. He couldn’t even see her shoes.

Jamison stretched and got up. He wasn’t as tall as Carl, but his old arms were still corded with muscle. At a small table in the corner of the building, Jamison poured two glasses of dark amber. He handed one to Carl, who took it appreciatively. This was just the thing to warm him up. “Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Both of the men stared at the girl and exchanged worried glances. Finally, Jamison said, “I’m sure she’ll tell you where she’s from, eventually.”

“But what am I to do with her until then? I don’t know the first thing about children. I can’t watch her. It’s too cold in the woods for a child.”

“You’re right.”

His frustration leaked into his words, “So what do I do with her?”

Jamison shook his head, “I don’t know.”

Carl took another sip of the drink. The old man knew how to choose a good whisky, “Can you think of anyone who might take her?”

“Nobody comes to mind, but I’ll think on it for you. It’s in an interesting problem, I don’t remember ever finding one alive…”

“I’ll take her to the Inn for tonight,” Carl interrupted, glancing at the girl. He might not know what to do with her, but he didn’t want her to start crying again. “She needs somewhere warm to sleep.”

“That seems like a good start.” Jamison knuckled his cheek, “So what happened to her wagon?”

“You wouldn’t want me to tell you the whole story, although I need to tell you some of it tomorrow or tonight if you’re going to be at the Inn.”

“How many?”

“Two, maybe another. They killed the carriage’s women and children. A man and his two sons, possibly a few more.”

The older man’s eyebrows twitched.

“I’m not sure what happened to the others,” Carl answered, unable to banish the image of blood on the leaves. “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

Jamison frowned, “You brought back their things?”

Carl unloaded his pack, handing over the money and notes he’d taken. The sword and knife he kept for Austin. The child had the napkins in his coat.

The Bounty Master handed a few of the coins back to him and then flipped through the notes gently, “Perhaps there’s a clue in here. We may be able to figure out her town.”

“That was my hope as well,” Carl replied, pocketing the nos. He thought about telling the old man what Jasper had said and then decided against it. He’d come back if he could find some proof.

“You’ve read them all?” Jamison asked.

“I did.”

“And what did you find out?”

“I didn’t see anything about her town. I was hoping you could take a look at them.”

The older man pulled at the belt about his thick waist, grimaced and put the papers on the desk. Gently, he set a rock on top of them, his eyes on the child. The girl hadn’t moved from her spot on the floor. “Of course,” he said eventually, “and you’ll want your payment, too.”

Jamison tossed Carl a small leather bag. He caught it, feeling the sting of the coins against his palm.

Grunting, the Bounty Master sat back in his chair, “If I think of anything to do with the girl, I’ll find you at the Inn.”

“Thanks.”

“Carl,” the man said suddenly, “sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”

The Inn was crowded, but of course it was, it had some of the best beer in Eganene. In truth, Carl wasn’t sure if Faenella’s Inn was a proper Inn. Only six rooms spanned the second floor. They hardly had a stable. Not that he cared. It was warm and dry, had a well-stocked bar, and the owner knew him by name.

“Carl!” he heard as he pushed open the door. The child trailed behind him, her eyes wide at the noise. “Gods, man!” the Innkeep exclaimed,” I didn’t know you had a little one!”

“William…” Carl waved, forcing the door closed.

The bartender was always the first person to welcome him in. Candles on the wall brightened the room, and the scent of burning wax mixed well the smell of meat and mead. There were probably twenty people inside the hearth room and another dozen at the bar. Most were men, a few were women with their husbands, and there was not a child in sight.

He recognized many of the patrons. The next decent town was two days journey and the next good beer was probably in Delphi. Faenella was a popular destination, close to the main north-south route and it had a good-sized market. Some of people nodded to him. Carl knew the Hunters from Jamison’s Bounty work. He recognized a few townsmen he traded with on a regular basis.

Faenella almost felt like a home and he liked working for Jamison. When there was a job, Carl took it. Jamison didn’t bother him about the weeks he wasn’t around.

“William,” Carl tried again, but the big man wasn’t listening. He was pressed against the end of bar, gesturing for the girl to climb up a stool.

“Come here child,” the man crooned, “look at you in that coat. You’re just adorable!”

“William, please.”

“Let me guess,” the Innkeep was saying. He was wiping at the bar with a rag, his eyes on the child, “Warm milk, is that your favorite? My own children loved it when they were your size.”

The girl hadn’t moved. Carl used his hand to push her forward. Her feet slid, digging little trenches in straw. “Listen, William, I don’t think…”

“The poor thing looks hungry, Carl. When’s the last time you two stopped for a good meal?”

William didn’t wait for an answer, but quick as a cere, spun and stuck his head into the kitchen to holler his order. Turning back, he poured a beer from one of the casks and slid the mug across the bar to Carl’s hand. He didn’t stop, but hustled down the bar towards two men calling for service. Carl watched, impressed with his efficiency.

“Come on, girl,” Carl whispered, bending down. She had her little arms crossed in front of her body, as if his coat could keep her from harm. “I know these people. They’re not going to hurt you. Come on, now.”

It took him a few minutes to get her out of the doorway, but he did it quietly, both to spare the girl and to avoid the attention. If someone was reporting to the Family and they’d heard of Jasper and Tran’s end, then the Dogs be searching.

“Milk?” a voice shouted.

A heavy-set woman with her hair bound high on her head appeared from the kitchen, mug in hand. “Someone ordered warm milk?”

Carl waved, “Here, Nadine. It’s for the girl.”

The Innkeep’s wife smiled, the decades sliding from her face like mud in a stream. Nadine had an ample chest and it bounced joyfully as she hurried to meet him. “Carl, dear! How are you?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t manage a word.

“Oh, Carl. Last time you should’ve told us you were in such a hurry!” she cried. “We didn’t know you were leaving until poor Mae found your room empty. Poor Willi. He thought you’d be here at least a week, had it in mind to play some cards with you on one of the slow nights.”

“I didn’t…”

“And who’s this?” she gasped at the child behind his leg. “What a sweet face! I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Carl frowned, “She isn’t mine,”

Nadine exhaled. “No matter. Tell me, now, are you both hungry?”

Carl shook his head, but then glanced at the girl. She was perched on the stool, her mouth open, staring at everything and everyone at the same time. “Some bread and cheese? And Nadine,” he called, as she turned away. "Do you have a room tonight?”

“You’re in luck. You can have the third on the left. Mae should just about be finished with the cleaning.”

Carl nodded his thanks and urged the child off the stool. She was hesitant, her eyes traveling from person to person. He wondered if she’d ever been in an Inn before. There were plenty of people who hadn’t. Many folk lived too far or too poor.

The child’s eyes came to rest on the wall and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. She was looking at the weavings-- a specialty in Faenella, if they were known for anything. Stitched from dyed cornhusks and knitted like yarn, the art had been hung behind glass and framed. The cornhusks seemed a bit senseless to him, just patterns instead of faces.

The girl was gawking, her little back pressed against his chest. She had her legs drawn up, her feet on the stool and her arms wrapped about herself. The man closest turned to look at her and Carl watched as she sunk lower into his coat. Thankfully, it was only a few moments before Nadine returned with the plate of food.

“Go on, child, upstairs now. Bring your milk, sweetheart,” she chided, handing him the room key.

The girl wouldn’t budge, but when Carl set off without her, she followed quickly. The little thing wasn’t even as tall as the tabletops and her springy curls bobbed as she swung her head side to side trying to see everything at once.

On the other side of the room, Carl took off his sword and mounted the steps. The child followed, her shadow fluttering against the boards. Finding their room, he herded the girl inside and tossed his pack and swords in the corner.