Westhaven, Rowan Erlking [large ebook reader .txt] 📗

right now to fetch him.”

“Then how—?”

Peering over the dark horizon, Gailert said, “Not to worry. He is marked. Someone will find him and return him to me.”

“And then what?” the corporal asked.

Gailert glared at that horizon. “And then we punish him.”

 

[1] See the Jonis Scrolls for details on this story.

 

Chapter Nine: Through Fields and Water

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The barren plain between the Semple Forest and Bekir Lake was mostly filled with fields of wild grass and grazing herds of cattle and sheep. Often the prairie grass was so tall that the boy walked through it wondering if he was going in circles. But he walked in the morning when the sun was on his right then rested when the sun was right overhead. He continued his journey only when the sun started to go down at his left. At night he walked with his eyes on the stars.

Passing by unnoticed was easy up until he saw the railroad near Holm Lake. There the rail lines split, resting on crest of exposed mounds with a switch house at the fork in the tracks. Five Sky Children manned that post. All five were armed.

So he crouched down in the high grass all day watching trains rumble by until sunset. Then he waited for a night train to come. He could hear the night train rumble, its lamp burning in the distance as the wheel clacked over the rails. Those in the switch house waited for it to pass, making sure the tracks were set correctly for the oncoming train. It rumbled closer then sounded its whistle as it clattered by. The train cars full of people clacked over the rails. The train turned up the right-handed track, heading to Herra in the hills and up the line towards Kolden, their northernmost city. The moment the last car passed him, the general’s boy scrambled up the hill and over the track and back down the other side into the slough.

It was hardly morning when the boy woke from the muddy patch of grass on the shores of Holm Lake and crawled out to see if there was a fishing village where he could take a boat. He had remembered a village around there long ago, but much had changed since his enslavement, including the paved road he had walked across that night and the disturbing rumble of a flying vehicle in the sky. The Sky Lord’s airplanes were already in the sky, landing not far from the lake near the train tracks.

Keeping low, the boy crept out of the reeds into the lakeshores, walking ankle deep, then knee deep through the water. The first thing he saw was a flock of ducks. A little girl with a stick waded among them to keep watch. He ducked down to hide, but the ducks stirred up and flapped their wings, scattering to get away. The girl turned and saw him. She let out a gasp.

But her shock and fear immediately transformed into curiosity, watching the general’s boy backed away from her into the reeds.

“What are you doing there?” she said just above a whisper.

Looking around to make sure no Sky Child was near, he ducked into the water and whispered back, “I’m hiding. Are there Sky Children in your village?”

She blinked and tilted her head. “Do you mean blue-eyes?”

The boy nodded.

With a cringe of fear, she bobbed her head. “Yes. They have a captain that lives in the Herder’s home. They’re building a fort at the road.”

Falling into the mud, the boy groaned. “They’re everywhere.”

“Do you need help?” she asked, creeping closer.

Lifting his head, he wondered if he was safe to have her help him or if it would draw the attention of the Sky Children. He took especial care to keep his marked shoulder under the water in case she saw it and decided to throw rocks at him.

Nodding at last, he said, “Yes. I’m hungry.”

She waded over to him, lifting a package wrapped in a kerchief from her front apron pocket. She held it out. “Here. You can have my lunch.”

He dropped back in the mud, reaching out for the wrapping. She giggled when she saw his hands were covered in muck. The girl unwrapped the napkin for him as he blushed and swished his hands in the thinner, less-brown water. Lifting them up, he took the piece of grilled fish she had and the chunk of sweet nut bread and the baked potato. Gnawing on them voraciously, he devoured each piece. The sauce from the fish smeared on his face. He was done in just a few minutes. He rubbed his stomach as it had begun to ache from feeling full for the first time in in a long time. The girl smiled at him, taking the kerchief back and tucking it into her apron.

As the ducks went about their wading and dunking for food, the girl watched the general’s boy while he washed up as best as he could in the gray water. He dunked under, coming up with his patchy hair dripping. His muddy vest started to show its old reddish color once more. She stared at his vest then drew in a breath.

“You were once a footman,” she said.

The boy ducked down in the water again to hide.

She rose up, clutching her skirts in her hands. They were sopping from the knees down but she didn’t seem to mind. “No. Don’t worry. I won’t say anything to anyone. The blue-eyes took my little brother years ago. They probably made him a footman. I’m glad you got away.”

He sat up again. “Why did they take him?”

Shrugging, she hung her head. “I don’t know. He was healthy. He was young. They take them younger every year.”

Sitting back in the water, the general’s boy nodded.

“What about you? When did they take you? Do you remember?” She squatted down again, sitting in the water also.

Nodding, his eyes following the ripples from the passing ducks to the swaying reeds and cattails, he said, “I was eight.”

She blinked at him. “Eight? They don’t usually take them that old.”

“I know,” he said.

Pushing off the shore and swimming into the deeper clearer water, she went around to face him. Leaning in, she asked, “Where did they take you from?”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he finally lifted his arm, pointing to the northeast. “Bekir Lake. On the peninsula.”

Her eyes went wide. “You’re from the peninsula?”

He nodded. “Summi Village.”

The girl’s mouth opened. “Summi Village? But there is no village on the peninsula.”

Those words hit him as if she had pushed him under the water to drown him. He scrambled to stand up. “Yes, there is! I lived there until the blue-eyes took me away.”

She climbed up from the water. “That’s not what I meant. There isn’t one anymore.”

“What?” He stared at her, looking to see if it was a lie.

Her eyes did not lie. They were wide, sincere, and incredibly sad. “Years ago…I don’t remember it well, but my dad says that years ago the village on the peninsula burned to the ground.”

He sloshed through the water as if he could get there that very day, but he stopped just short of open water. “Burned?”

“He said they could see the fire for miles, like a torch.” She did not follow him.

Setting his hands to face, he started to cry. Clenching his hair, he howled. “Why? Why? My father! My grandfather! My home! And now my mother and my friends.”

She slowly walked towards him, the water lapping in ripples from her soggy dress.

The boy whipped around shouting at her. “He took everything from me! And I did everything he told me to!”

She just stared at him. Her eyes watched his face as his tears rolled down the mud on his cheeks. She was unable to speak.

Screaming up, with his hands drawn into fists, he shouted at the sky. “I hate him!”

He kicked at the reeds, grabbed the grass and wrenched it from its roots, tossing it into the lake. The ducks scattered.

The girl jumped over to him and hissed, reaching up to cover his mouth, looking back towards the western shore. “Shh! Quiet! They’ll hear you!”

She then pulled him into the water. The mud splashed up over them both as they sat waist deep.

The general’s boy continued to sob, but kicked the muck less violently, rubbing his hand across his face. “I hate him.”

“I know. I know, but…” She looked over at the west shore again. “If they hear you, they’ll capture you and bring you back to your master. And you don’t want that.”

Those words focused his mind back to reality. In fact, he twitched and looked for the soldiers himself, remembering the general’s threats.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now, listen. I can get you some food and you can hide here. I’ll visit you every day and let you know what’s going on.”

But the general’s boy rose from the muck with a shake of his head. He turned with a look to Lake Bekir. “No. I have go home.”

“There is no village on that peninsula anymore,” she said, rising after him. “If you go there, they might find you.”

With a slow nod, he continued to gaze towards his home anyway, wading into the deeper water. “I know. But I have to go back. I left something there. I need it.”

“No.” She followed after him. “You’ll get killed, or captured. Your master will know you’ll want to go home. You can’t go back there ever again.”

He closed his eyes. “I know. But I have to.”

“You’re stupid.” She stepped from him. “You’re going to get yourself killed, just like the swordsmith of Bekir Lake. My dad says it. Heroes die young.”

The general’s boy turned and tilted his head. “The swordsmith?”

Nodding hard she said, “That’s right. The legendary swordsmith of Bekir Lake. Everyone talks about how he faced General Gole and died with hot iron in his chest. He was the last of the great sword makers. My dad has one of his swords, but he hides it in case the blue-eyes search our home.”

Turning around again, he waded into the water, heading back towards Bekir Lake.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She called after him.

He nodded, looking back to her. “Yes.”

“You can’t go back! Stay here!” She splashed the water she was in.

Wading back to her in the shallow water, the general’s boy pulled off his vest and pointed to the burn mark on his chest. She flinched at it first then she stared.

“See this?”

She nodded, peering more at it.

“This burn is from the same iron that killed the swordsmith,” he said. “He was my father. And that poker was meant for me.”

Her eyes widened, searching his face perhaps for some signs of a hero.

“General Gole took me captive a year after he killed my father.” The boy dropped the vest into the water and pointed to the mark on his shoulder. “And I have been serving my father’s killer for six years.”

Only the laughter of the ducks interrupted the hush of the wind in the slough and over the water.

He turned once more towards Bekir Lake. “I need to go back and retrieve the dagger I made so I can kill that demon.”

“But—”

“I know he’ll kill me,” he said. “It scares me. But