Updated 3/15/24

16

Sarah

The afternoon light filtering through the pile of straw grew darker. Sleep eluded her as the cold night air penetrated her thin shift and unsettling sounds echoed in her imagination.

A creaking door, a distant splash, and the rhythmic clopping of hooves chiseled at her decision to wait. She strained her ears, her senses heightened in the gloom. The night was alive with unseen movements, punctuated by a sudden shout and a grunt. A commanding voice rang out, "Be gone, you wastrel," followed by the crash of something ceramic. The coarse straw kept poking her.

Suddenly, a colorless, scaly dragon slithered into her nightmare, its thick forked tongue tasting the air. Its foul breath and narrow yellow eyes held her captive. Panic surged as she realized her sword was gone, leaving her defenseless. A bolt of lightning struck, and her nightmare shattered into loud laughter, rousing her back to the harsh reality of the night.

In the lingering darkness, Sarah’s thoughts raced. Would the soldier boy return for her? Should she risk sneaking away and attempting the journey home? Contemplating her options, she decided to wait, counting the moments until the sky would begin to lighten.

“One, two, three, four…”

Wide awake and cold, her memories drifted to the monster of her dream and the bearded giant wearing his sparkling jewels like dragon treasure. She recalled standing in line, scowling at his lizard smile and eyes like pricker bushes. He was evil. He hurt people. A shiver ran down her back remembering his glare.

The straw poked her again and she thought more about the gray dragon. As he had walked along the line of boys, poking them, she’d felt J’shua’s touch. Peace, Little One. I am with you. You are safe. She couldn’t see the little boy, because he was behind the bigger boys who stood straight like soldiers in the army. The dragon’s bark summoned men who led the seven boys away. Her little blackbird had to run to keep up.

She’d held her breath. J’shua?

I will be with him.

She sighed. But someone had yelled, “Black Hawk.” The young soldier boy ran toward the officer and the clerk. He bowed.

She’d put her hands on her hips. If she was named for a bird, it would be Chickadee or Wren. Those were happy, cheerful birds. Not birds that swooped down and picked up little girls from their hiding place.

Hawk pointed his stick at the girls and then the cage, motioning. The line shuffled forward. One by one, they climbed in. Sarah, the last, reached for the floor of the cage to heave herself up, she was determined to do it herself, but Hawk picked her up and set her inside.

She’d turned around, pushing the stinky straw away with her boots, and knelt. Leaning her head against the metal bars, she peered at him and their eyes had met.

She’d hated him when he pushed her in the cage the first time.

J’shua’s still, small voice told her, He will help you. Forgive him.

Her brother had forgiven her. David was five years older than she and would be gone for a long, long time when he left for his apprenticeship, training horses in the faraway land of Esthlanis. The sword would soon be hers, so she took it.

She ran along the forest trail holding it high overhead, proclaiming the adventures of the fierce Sir Sarahad, but she’d tripped, and the sword flew out of her hand. She searched for it desperately but eventually plodded home before dark, her head hanging low.

She approached the open door slowly as her scowling brother stood waiting. He looked much like their father, hands on his hips.  “Ma told me to go find you. It’s almost dark.”

She’d looked up at him with trembling lips.

“Where’s my sword?” he’d demanded. “I know you took it.”

Sarah looked at her feet. “I…I lost it,” she’d said with choppy breaths, as she wiped her tear-stained cheeks with her sleeve.

David’s face softened, he sighed and pulled her close. “We’ll find it tomorrow after chores.” He took her hand and they walked inside. His forgiveness was unexpected and undeserved. He loved her.

The straw still poked her everywhere. Would Hawk save her from the dragon?

She remembered the familiar passage.

[For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.]

Blackhawk

The tavern lights extinguished one by one as Blackhawk rode leisurely toward the brothels. Some houses still had a few ladies out front. One called out, slowly circling her hips and moving her hands suggestively, “Hallo, handsome, I’ve something sweet for you.” Looking over several, he shook his head and moved on.

Other men leered, or shuffled past, drunk. The strongmen barely glanced at him. No one reacted when he turned down the alley.

“Little Soldier.” Blackhawk looked around furtively as he dismounted. “Are you still here?”

The straw rustled. There she stood, hands on her hips, staring at him.

Dropping a burlap sack on the ground, he said. “Climb in while I examine this beast. You have to hide until we’re out of town.” He circled the animal, checking its form, wondering if she’d do it. Returning to his starting point, the sack was full. “Good girl.” He hoisted and secured it behind his saddle and mounted. “We need to get far away from here.”

Drawing his cloak tight against the chilly night air, he rode casually north. After the town was out of sight, he turned off the road toward the river and galloped. An hour later, he stopped in a thicket. He took down the sack and opened it. She greeted him with a groggy smile.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes.

“Well, Little Soldier, what do we do? If we’re caught, they’ll make you a whore, and I’ll be dead. So, we can’t get caught. That’s what J’shua would say, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled brightly. “The way is clear when it is needed.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Ma says it after praying. She says that J’shua has perfect timing. We think we need something now, but we don’t. We need it when we need it.” She smiled back at him.

“Hmm, that seems to be the way of it so far. Ready to ride up front?”

She bobbed her head.

He mounted and then leaned down, offering his hand. When he pulled, Little Soldier jumped, making him laugh. “Is there anything your parents haven’t taught you?”

She smiled, only to frown. “Hawk, how do you know what you haven’t been taught?”

He chortled, shaking his head.

Little Soldier chattered on as they rode. “Hawk, do you hear the crickets stop gossiping to each other when we get close?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hawk, did you know the stars in the sky speak if you learn their stories?”

“No, I didn’t know that. Can you hear the stars?”

“I only know a few of the stories,” she replied, shaking her head. “My da teaches them to me when we’re outside at night, and the sky’s clear.” She went quiet and then sniffled for a bit.

But when they came out of the trees she pointed at the night sky. “Look! That is the virgin who had a baby. She has a branch in her right hand, and ears of corn in her left. That story is about the birth of J’shua, son of the God of Truth. There is another story called the Serpent.”

Still looking up, she turned her head side to side. “I can’t see him right now. He is bad. He killed J’shua. But his father raised him from the dead. It turns out the God of Truth planned it all along. It was a sacred secret. Now J’shua lives in heaven with his father and all the angels.” She gave him a smile as they entered the trees again.

He smiled, too.

They passed the rapids and she said, “Hawk, doesn’t that rushing water sound like a fierce battle?”

“I suppose it does.” Blackhawk had never been so entertained. He began noticing the sights and sounds around him, not just potential threats.

Night surrendered to the first light of day trickling through the leaves as she slumped against him, sound asleep. Now what? She had no home. Her mother was a fugitive. The father was away or dead. Her grandparents dead. He sighed.

Usually, he planned better before doing something stupid. If he was caught, and if he lived, his lord would be very disappointed. He might give him over to the Order. Or Caileagh might take him.

He headed into another dark thicket. Without waking her, he slid off the horse, carried her to a soft grassy spot, and laid her down gently. What was he going to do with Little Soldier? He remembered what she’d said earlier.

The way is clear when it is needed.

He smiled, covering her with a blanket. Tying the horse’s reins to a branch, he lay beside her.

We need it when we need it.

He tucked the blanket snugly under her and went to sleep.

Waking in the late afternoon, he turned to find only a rumpled blanket. He jumped up. “Little Soldier?”

“Hawk!”

A moment of relief pricked him.

Her bright face appeared below the horse’s neck. On her tiptoes, she patted its shoulder. She seemed so tiny beside the enormous creature.

“What is the name of this noble steed?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Everyone deserves a good name.” She rubbed her chin and tapped her foot. “Whitefoot. I shall call her Whitefoot.”

The horse whinnied.

“It’s a good name.” Blackhawk rolled up the blanket, repacked the gear, and saddled the horse. He mounted, gave her his hand, and she jumped as he pulled. He handed her some dried meat.

She closed her eyes. “Thank you, J’shua,” she said. Then she pushed the whole lump in her mouth and nodded as she chewed, mumbling, “S’good. S’ank you, H’k.”

He shook his head. “I forgot, you haven’t eaten since… We have to make it last. There are no inns the way we are traveling.”

They continued along the river for several days following the same routine, riding at night and sleeping during the day. He spotted a shallow section of the river, and they rode across. A stack of fallen trees confirmed they were approaching River Town.

He hadn’t decided what he would do with her when he reported to High Keep.

The next evening, as they rode, he asked her, “When in a town, could you call me ‘brother?’”

“Yes. I’m good at pretending. You’re my valiant knight and as a princess, I bestow upon you my blessing for your service.” She turned to look up at him and, with a flourish, presented her open palm holding a seashell button that had fallen from her shift. “Now you have a jewel, too, like the fire-breathing dragon you saved me from.”

“Commandant Greysun?” he laughed. “Surely, he does breathe fire.” He picked up the small token and bowed low. “It is my pleasure to serve you, Your Highness. I am honored.” He placed the button in his pocket. “But for now, can you pretend that I’m your brother?”

Chapter 17

Rebekah

Rebekah caught up as the Donitoros found a path into the Frei. They exchanged a despairing frown with her. Rebekah was alone. She’d failed. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air as they continued somberly through the forest.

Rebekah rode ahead ensuring the trail was wide enough. The guilt gnawed at her. She’d lost Sarah. What had she done? Would her daughter be a servant, a slave? Regret flooded her thoughts. She should have stayed on task, ambushing them when there were only two. She wallowed in self-loathing. Stop it. It can’t be both ways. Once you’ve made a choice and acted, it’s done.

The God of Truth always had a plan, regardless of her actions. Her ambush might not have worked or might have made things worse. The word of wisdom guided her to help this family, for reasons unknown. Her stomach clenched, but the spirit of J’shua comforted her.

Sarah is safe, echoed the still, small voice. A passage from the Writings followed, validating the comforting words:

[And we know that all things work together for good to them that love the God of Truth, to them who are called according to his purpose.]

Greysun might use boys for his army, but Rebekah had to find out what he did with girls. Suppressing thoughts of the future awaiting Sarah, she focused on the journey. The Donitoros shared stories of the providence of the God of Truth, providing a soothing distraction.

Finally, Teress asked, “Why are you dressed so?”

Rebekah related her story. About to burst into tears describing her complete failure, she complained instead, “Alas, I’ve no skill at posing as a man. I’ll need a better disguise when hunting for my daughter.”

“I could teach you to act more like a brute. Couldn’t I, Teress?” Vincent winked at his wife.

“That you could, dear.” His wife smiled. “You have a deep husky voice, Madame Otual.”

Rebekah’s eyebrows rose. “There’s no need for such formality. Call me Rebekah.”

“As a man, every word should be sharp, every movement abrupt, decisive.” Vincent chopped his hand into the other palm. “When you laugh, it should be loud. Make grand sweeping gestures with your arms, not merely your hands. Act like you own everything you see, and no one will think you a woman.”

Rebekah frowned. “I’ll need much practice.”

He continued, “As for your stride, it must be bold, commanding, purposeful…even when you’re at ease. Teaching you how to be angry as a man, that’ll take longer.”

Rebekah squirmed on her saddle.

Teress put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Stop the wagon, Vince.” She turned back to Rebekah. “You should rest. Tie your horse and ride with us for a bit.”

So Rebekah rode in the wagon while Teress and Vincent carried the conversation.

“What will we do?” Teress asked with a quaver in her voice.

Rebekah told them how she and Jonathan lived in the wilds of Mestelina when they were younger. They listened as she rambled, “Until we know how to proceed…my husband oft says this. Remember, prayer is more important than anyone knows. It grants J’shua and angels permission to work unseen on our behalf.”

The wagon creaked and groaned over roots of trees that crossed their way. The pines began to give way to oak and beech trees.

“Because of the first man’s sin, the Serpent rules in this age. But he doesn’t own those who have accepted J’shua’s ransom. Even so, we are still learning how to walk in his light.”

It soothed Rebekah to quote Jonathan. “As man has free will, he must ask for aid. But the God of Truth is not to be commanded and the power of God isn’t conjured. God is a caring father. Although, everything takes time and we struggle, learning as we go.”

Rebekah paused, and Teress asked, “How did you meet your husband?”

Rebekah thought back. “It was almost twelve years ago. I was sixteen years old.”

“My father and I had come to town to pick up the plow he’d ordered the moon before. My father had admired him, from the first moment he’d seen Jonathan racing to rescue an innocent man.” She laughed as she recalled the day.

“I saw him dash toward the commotion, too, but I’d noticed him earlier. A merchant tried to overcharge for the plow we’d ordered. The weather had prevented our travel.” Rebekah’s eyes flashed as she remembered the argument with the greedy man.

“I turned and saw a boy with hair the color of fresh churned butter, his bright blue eyes watching me. His smile was warm and unassuming. Not the way most of the local boys leered at me. When I smiled back, he stared, transfixed, until his friends pulled him away. He was a Knight of J’shua.” She sighed.

“Fairness Crossing was the closest town to the Knights’ School so they were not an uncommon sight. He was a fresh graduate by the look of him. His knight’s cloak was still dark blue and all one shade, the grey tunic and breeches under it were new as well. That meant he had studied the Writings and sword fighting for five years.

“I was curious, but no more. However, my father brought Jonathan and his two friends home to lodge that night for it was a long way back to their school. The talk over the evening meal demonstrated his kind heart and great passion for J’shua. We married four moons later.”

The Donitoros’ three older children, finally forgetful of their earlier terror, played games with the baby and sang amidst all the bundles in the wagon’s bed. Their boy, Brin, slept.

It was difficult to follow the river and maintain enough distance to remain unseen and unheard. So Rebekah took to riding the horse again and scouted. Around another bend in the path, she heard the hawkers of Fairness Crossing calling to boatmen and customers as they tied up to the docks. After a time, the shouts became distant and Rebekah surveyed the landscape for a place to make shelters.

Eventually, a small clearing appeared. “We are near the river, but are hidden from those traveling on it.” Rebekah pointed at several rabbits. “There’s much undergrowth sheltering small animals to snare, and over there, I see blackberries.”

Vincent exclaimed, “Thank you, Father, for your provision.”

The children began plucking the ripest berries.

Rebekah continued, “Our shelters will blend into the woods. During the day, when the river is full of boatmen, we’ll remain within the forest, foraging only at dusk or dawn. We’ll use only a small fire. ”

Vincent nodded and shared a worried look with Teress. “Since we are close to the town, there will be many boats. There can be no loud sounds. Even a child’s tantrum could bring about our end.”

“Yes.” Rebekah agreed.

As the sun set, they ate together from the army provisions and lay down on the wool blankets from the soldier's packs. They all hoped and prayed it would not rain. Tomorrow they’d build the shelter.

Her thoughts turned to Sarah. The stolen horse's whinny reminded her of the desperate acts committed—stealing a horse, killing three men. Prayers and meditations on the writings brought moments of peace, but the ache for her daughter persisted. Eventually, she succumbed to sleep, the worry for Sarah still echoing in her dreams. Where was she? Was she really safe?

Sarah

Riding on Hawk’s horse, Sarah chatted about whatever she thought. “A princess should be brave and have good posture, don’t you agree? Who would listen to a princess that sat like this?” She demonstrated, slumping.

Hawk chuckled. “I saw a princess once. She did sit very straight so I think you are right about that.”

Sarah beamed, patting Whitefoot, the horse, as they continued on their journey. Hawk had rescued her from the dragon and the big cage so climbing into his bag had felt as natural as obeying Ma or Da. He'd needed her to hide.

The day grew warm, and they came near the river and stopped. She wondered why he took down his pack. She was hungry so she slid down the side of the horse.

Since they were far away from the dragon, they’d been riding in the daytime and stopping only at night like normal travelers. What changed? It was midday.

Hawk started a fire and hung a pot of lentils. Then he took out the blankets. Hawk removed his boots and breeches. His shirt hung to his knees. She was about to ask him if he was sick until he looked her up and down and said, “You stink, Your Highness.”

She looked at him puzzled for a moment.

“It will be cold, but we can’t go near a town with you smelling like… Well, you know what you smell like. Take off your boots.”

Glancing at the cold water flowing over dappled brown stones, to the deeper water, she shook her head. She folded her arms and scowled. Hawk inched closer as he spread his hands. “Now don’t scream. Someone might hear you. It won’t take long.”

Sarah took one step to run, but he grabbed her with one hand and pushed her down to the ground, pinning her easily.

He pulled off her boots and picked her up under her arms, wading into the water, thigh-deep.

Tears welled up in her eyes. She squirmed and growled until he plunged her in the icy water up to her neck. “Blast!” she yelled, gasping.

Her ma said that sometimes, but she shouldn’t. She glared and counted through clenched teeth, “One, two, three, four. Get me out, please, get me out! I’m dying.”

“That should be enough.” Hawk set her on the riverbank and climbed out.

Sarah hopped around in little circles, hunching over, whimpering. Her shift was wet from the neck down. Her teeth chattered and she shook all over. Hawk threw a blanket around her and rubbed her briskly. He pointed at the log before the fire. “Sit.”

She sat with a huff, scowling into the flames.

I won’t forgive him again.

He stirred the pot and spooned some into a cup for her.

Sarah took it, turning her back on him. The spoon shook as she ate.

The lentils warmed her and tasted good.

Hawk pulled her close and put one side of his own blanket around her. She relaxed as his body heat began to relieve her chills. Almost asleep, she felt him carefully untangling her snarled hair. He was gentle, like her ma.

After some time, finally warm and nearly dry, she sighed and pulled the blanket tighter. “Do I smell better?

“Yes, Little Soldier, much better.”

Sarah leaned back against Hawk, sleepy under the warm sun.

J’shua, bless Ma, and Da, and Oma, and Opa.

And Hawk.

Help us all be where you need us until we meet you in the air.

Chapter 18

Blackhawk

In the morning, Blackhawk hid his surcoat, brigandine, and helmet in the fraying burlap sack and mounted behind Little Soldier. The garrison didn’t supply a soldier’s clothes so Blackhawk wore common homespun so he should blend in in River Town. Frowning he looked Little Soldier over, wondering if he should make himself look grimy like her, but decided against it. He wanted to make a good impression at High Castle.

He kept a leisurely pace. Fellow travelers passed frequently, some mounted and some walked alongside laden wagons, each offering cautious nods. River Town was close.

“Here goes. Remember to call me brother.”

She looked at him with a smirk, her eyes brimming with a mischievous glint. He glared back at her, but then his mouth twitched. He couldn’t help but smile.

She was something.

As the town came into view, the scent of freshly cut wood emanated from the nearby mill. The main road burgeoned with men directing wagons, frantically loading bags and bundles. Farmers and workmen darted back and forth, pleading for speed and shouting demands like angry hornets. Bags tossed into carts thumped like drums. A box of tools dropped. “Thunk.” A palpable urgency painted the scene. They were fleeing.

Blackhawk’s chest constricted. Frantic eyes pierced him. He didn’t understand why his gut was pricked by this. Countless times as he rode into towns and villages with Commandant Sulla in search of deserters or wanted criminals and seen this fear. But a vague memory niggled beneath the surface.

No. He wouldn’t waste time trying to make it take shape. He could not remember it. Only the feeling. His teeth clenched.

His earliest memory was a warm bath and clean clothes from his master, Earl Gaelib Melazera. Whatever happened before that was lost to him. He pushed those thoughts down.

Blackhawk slid out of the saddle and placed Little Soldier on the ground. As he tied the horse, he said, “Wait here by Whitefoot.” Turning, he waved to get the shopkeeper’s attention as he approached. “Hallo. What’s going on?”

The man wiped his brow with his sleeve. “Haven’t you heard? The king taxed the nobles. They’re calling in loans. Any who can’t pay have their wife and children taken. Everyone’s going west.”

He forced himself to respond lightly. “I never thought I’d be fortunate to have no land. Do you know all these people?”

The sweaty shopkeeper passed bags to grasping hands. “Yes, we’re a close community.”

Blackhawk gazed back to check on Little Soldier. He stiffened. She wasn’t where he’d left her by the horse.

Sprinting up the stairs, he searched for her in the bustling crowd. Panic tightened his gut. He scanned again, slower.

He couldn’t leave,…could he?

He tried a different pattern. The sense of loss clawed at him until he finally spotted her in a wagon, patting the head of an infant in its mother’s arms. Blackhawk marveled as she chattered away, making the baby laugh. Then, Little Soldier turned, pointing unerringly at Blackhawk. He might have lost her, but she hadn’t lost him.

She is something.

He sighed with relief. Blackhawk grabbed the reins and walked to her, his brows furrowed. “There you are. I told you to stay.”

She glowered at him, wrinkling her nose.

“These people are leaving,” Blackhawk said sternly. He held out his hand to Little Soldier. The milling crowd rumbled in the background.

The woman laughed. “Not for a bit. Shaun still has a dozen things to load. I’m Kennah Decker. We’re heading south, where the weather is…milder.” She waved to someone. “Where’re you headed?” The woman adjusted the babe in her arms.

She had brown eyes and long brown hair braided down her back. Her peaceful gaze quieted his doubts. Would she be good to her? He glanced at his horse and swallowed hard.

His throat was dry. “Actually…I saved her from a debt collection earlier this week. Her family’s gone.” A shout from the crowd made him jerk and grit his teeth. If this didn’t go well, they’d flee on Whitefoot.

“I have to go to High Keep. She wouldn’t be safe there.” Another box dropped with a loud crack. “I…I’m looking for a family to take her.” He held his breath.

“I see.” Kennah gazed down at Little Soldier. “Do you want to go with us? I can tell you’re a good girl. You’d be welcome.”

Little Soldier held her gaze for a long moment as if she weighed her options. “Yes, ma’am.” Turning, she jumped into Blackhawk’s arms and hugged him. She pulled on Blackhawk’s sleeve and placed another button in his hand. “You’re my valiant knight. I love you, Sir Hawk.” She hugged him again.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” He lowered her onto the wagon, blinking suddenly wet eyes. He cleared his throat and focused on Kennah. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He scrounged a handful of baden from his purse. “Could you make her a new shift? Something pretty. The buttons are falling off this one. It’s all tattered now.”

“Of course,” the woman said, laying her hand on his arm.

Blackhawk stood stunned.

Her simple touch engendered a peace he’d not experienced before. A peace that was alive, not a numb, drunken stupor.

“It’s a charitable thing you’ve done, saving a stranger. I’ll get linen from the cloth merchant. Blessings of J’shua be upon you.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he mumbled. He walked to his horse, glancing back as Little Soldier lifted her hand in the slightest wave.

He mounted Whitefoot, gave her a nod, and rode away.

***

As Blackhawk journeyed toward High Keep, the rhythmic clip-clop of Whitefoot’s hooves echoed in his ears, creating a soothing backdrop to the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind. The clamorous scene of River Town gradually receded into the past, replaced by the spring green beauty of the surrounding countryside.

As the landscape unfolded, Blackhawk couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that his encounter with Little Soldier marked a significant turning point. It was mere chance that he’d seen her enter the forest. And even more unlikely that the horse would graze at the exact place where she hid. He wrestled with conflicting emotions—relief that she would be cared for and an undeniable ache at parting with the one person who had called him “Sir Hawk” and hugged him like a hero.

As the sun cast long shadows across the road and the Wooster Inn loomed on the horizon, Blackhawk’s mind raced with uncertainties generated by Little Soldier’s simple words. He kicked Whitefoot into a gallop, the wind blew through his curly black hair, and a faint spark of hope flickering within filled him with delight.

Chapter 19

Sarah

Sarah clasped her hands and watched Hawk and Whitefoot trot off. A tear ran down her cheek as he disappeared amidst the clatter of wagons and the pressing crowd swallowed him. Would she ever see him again?

J’shua, watch over my valiant knight wherever he goes. Help him on his quest.

As soon as he was completely gone, Sarah felt J’shua’s warm arms. Hawk was noble, and he would continue doing good. She smiled, imagining Sir Hawk battling a dragon. Da was with him and afterward they all met Ma in a great hall with candles that hung from a high ceiling. A servant with shining buttons gave her a honey cake.

She wiggled the remaining button on her shift and turned her eyes up to Kennah. “Sir Hawk must go on a quest. What is ours?”

Kennah smiled down at her, bouncing the baby on her knee. “We are going to create a new life in the west where J’shua alone is our lord.”

That was like what Da did on his adventures.

She smiled at Kennah, “Ma’am, how can I help?”

“You are such a sweet child to ask that.” Kennah hugged her. “J’shua will lead us. Take Benjamin, while I help Shaun.”

She sat and pulled him on her lap. Babbling and cooing, she made the baby gurgle and laugh.

With the wagon loaded, stacked with sacks and boxes, they finally left River Town for the frontier.

Kennah said, “The untamed lands have been given to no noble. The king decreed that any could settle there and own the land they plowed and the homes they built. So you see, we have a chance to be free of an overlord, except the king himself. He shall see what free people can do.”

***

Sarah loved playing with Benjamin. The chubby baby laughed as she wiggled her fingers and made faces and sudden sounds. They traveled day and night. As she lay in the wagon, she pretended she was a princess being taken to safety by innocent thieves. Her knight left to save the king and queen, who were hunted by an evil wizard. She prayed for them often as her hero proceeded through many challenges and quests.

Shaun touched her knee and pointed. “We’re passing Caswell.”

Gray castle turrets poked up above the trees. She hummed, imagining beautiful silken ladies and their suitors twirling to a minstrel’s lively music and the brimming tables of a grand feast surrounded by colorful nobles.

The food would be glorious. Never would the bread be stale.

The bumpy road made it hard to sleep. The wagon wasn’t rhythmic like Whitefoot had been. She squirmed, shoving bags of oats and peas around to get more comfortable.

Many days later, mountains appeared in the distance. Da had taught her that the Shining Mountains protected the southern border of Freislicht, and it was always a safe place to go when in danger. She was happy they were doing as her da would.

She wrinkled her brow.

J’shua, keep Ma and Da safe.

Da told her stories of his adventures in strange countries. She wondered how she would tell her story when they sat by the fire together again.

After many days of jostling, Shaun pointed. “See our new home?”

Sarah rubbed her eyes. Hammering and the distant crack of axes filled the air. Not a single person was idle.

Joyful laughter and snippets of lighthearted conversation floated by. Men toted rocks and logs. Women carried food to a long table.

As they passed it, the smell of cooking made her mouth water. She licked her lips and prayed she could have some, frowning as they continued onward. Her thoughts of rabbit stew and fresh bread made her sigh. She watched it vanish until the laughter of children brought her back.

“Always call me Ma,” Mother Decker reminded as the wagon slowed. “It will keep us safe.”

“Yes, Ma, I will.”

Her real ma wouldn’t mind. David sometimes called her Sir Sarahad. She called him the Blue Knight.

Ma smiled, and Sarah was glad of it. A young woman ran toward them, her arms spread wide in greeting as she exclaimed, “Sister Kennah, we didn’t know you were coming so soon.”

Ma accepted the warm embrace. “Sister Berenda, we had to. It’s grown worse in Lorness. Come. I want you to meet Sarah, a sweet girl who lost her parents. She’s been a great help with Benjamin.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mother Berenda.” Sarah gave a bow.

“Aren’t you a bold child?” The new woman lifted Sarah’s chin. “I am sure J’shua has amazing things ahead for you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope so.” Sarah returned the woman’s smile.

Sister Berenda turned back to Ma. “I am glad that you’ve arrived early. We have a newcomer that is expecting a babe any day now. We sent a request for Midwife Matilda in Lexandria, but she has several mothers on the verge of delivery there. The God of Truth has provided our own midwife. I’ll introduce you to them at circle tonight.”

Shaun and several men unloaded the wagon while talking about debt collections and war.

Sarah jumped to the ground, watching the pack of children playing on the other side of the clearing. She beamed up at Ma, with arched eyebrows.

Ma tossed her head toward them. “Go on.”

Sarah ran off.

***

Excitement bubbled up as the children, big and small, called to her as she approached. Laughter echoed through the air. The girl who was “it” discovered the others one by one in their game of hide-and-seek. Sarah was good at this game.

One girl in a pretty flowered shift pointed at her and whispered to her friends, laughing. Sarah looked down at her dirty, torn clothes. She scowled at them. Then they ran away to hide again.

Her new ma and da said that the untamed lands, promised freedom and a chance to create a new life. Not that she wanted a new life, but her old one seemed far, far away. She would have to wait for her real ma or da to find her, like a long, long game of hide-and-seek.

The unfamiliar sights and sounds of scraggly trees, spiky red and blue wildflowers, and strange bird calls filled her senses, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the lively atmosphere. A big boy counted slowly, loud enough to hear over every other sound, “One, Two, Three…” All the other children scattered into the nearby brush to hide. Sarah looked all around to find the perfect spot. Branches wiggled and twigs cracked as she saw where all the others had gone.

She stopped, noticing a brown-haired boy, maybe her age, squatting on the ground, moving small stones into a line. Curious, she approached him and squatted beside him.

“Hallo! I’m Sarah. What’s your name?”

Ned looked up from his game, a playful glint in his eyes. “Hallo.” He returned to his work, his hands moving stones into intricate patterns, his tongue probing along his teeth in concentration.

Sarah bent closer analyzing his activity. What was he doing?

Finally, he let out a short sigh. “Perfect.” Then he looked up at her again. “I’m Ned. Wanna play with me?”

Sarah nodded enthusiastically as Ned demonstrated his game. He pulled a small, bunched fabric from his belt, opening it carefully to reveal a handful of roly-poly bugs. Ned held the cloth over the center of a square of stones, and shook them onto the ground, trapping them. He chose one and rolled it until the tiny crustacean curled up tight, into a flawless ball. Holding it low to the ground with one hand, he flicked it with a finger of his other toward the line of stones. The small living ball hit one and ricocheted back at him. “See, it’s fun. Try it.”

Sarah hesitated but then gave it a go, making one of the bugs roll up. “Oh, my. They are amazing.” She carefully held the roly-poly and flicked, shooting the bug between the stones. She missed.

Ned grinned, proud of his roly-poly game. “You’ll get better.”

She tried again, and again, eventually hitting her mark. But as the projected bugs unrolled and tried to escape, Sarah’s expression changed.

“Um, Ned, do you think they like being rolled up like that?”

Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just a game.”

Sarah watched the bugs closely, her concern growing. What if we, um, played something else? Maybe they don’t like being rolled up and shot into rocks.

Ned considered her words for a moment. “Okay, what do you want to do?”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled with a new idea. “What if we make a little bug village instead? The stones can become homes. Let’s see how they like that.”

Ned grinned. “I have these skipping stones for roofs. Let’s give them mansions,” he said as he pulled out five flat, smooth river rocks. They worked while the echoes of the hide-and-seek game continued behind them.

“Have you ever seen a mansion, Ned?” Sarah asked.

“Yes! The Duke of Lexandria built a hunting lodge on the other side of those woods. It is as big as a palace. Want to see it?”

Sarah jumped up, grinning. “Yes!”

Ned grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the trees. After only a few minutes, they came to a building that was two stories high, with windows above them. She dragged her hand over the milled wooden planks as they walked to the front. There was a high portico attached to the front, and beyond this building there was a barn. One horse tied to a post munched on sedge grass, snorting as they approached. A man appeared from the open barn door, smacking dust and hay off his clothes.

The man’s eyes widened and he stepped toward them. “Hallo, young ones! What brings you here?”

Sarah pointed at her new friend. “Ned here said this is a mansion. Is it?”

The man chuckled. “Oh, I suppose that is relative. It would seem so to most people.”

“Do you live here?” Sarah asked.

“Well, yes, but in a room over the barn, and only when the Lockes are here. I’m Lyster, I work for Duke Locke. This is his hunting cabin. They’ll be coming to hunt in a few moons. I’m here to take stock of what must be done before they arrive. If you want to see how big it is, come.” He gestured for them to follow.

Standing in front of the big house with ten windows on each floor, she counted twenty steps up to the porch and at least ten steps across to the big double door. Gaping at the spectacle, Sarah wondered what it was like inside.

Suddenly she noticed long shadows pouring from the tree line and the sun just about to hide behind them. Her stomach grumbled, too. Sarah gasped. “We have to go, Ned. I can’t miss the meal that’s been cooking all afternoon. I haven’t eaten real food for weeks.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him. “Thank you for showing us your mansion, Lyster. Can we visit you again?”

Of course. You’ll probably hear a big ruckus of wagons and horses when the Lockes show up. Look for us on the first half-moon of summer.” Lyster waved as he turned toward the barn again.

Sarah and Ned ran back to the settlement to find all the children stood with their families in line for the feast or sat on blankets. The smell of cooking wafted through the air, drawing Sarah’s attention to the long table where women were dishing up plate after plate. Her stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma that promised a bounty of fresh bread, rabbit stew, and other delights.

Amid this happy scene, Ned ran off as she spotted Ma chatting with Sister Berenda. Ma smiled at Sarah and pulled her close as the two women continued talking of the marriages and babies Ma had missed. Their circle had chosen to move west moons before but they relocated in stages to lessen the burden of building many homes at once.

Ma pointed to a waving man who held a baby. “Sarah, Da has a plate made up for you over there.”

“Thank you, Ma. I’m so hungry and it smells like a royal banquet.” Sarah bounded across the field just as Shaun set Benjamin on the blanket.

“I was worried about you until Ned’s mother told me you were with him. His sisters keep watch over him,” Shaun said as he handed her the plate overflowing with rabbit, and greens, and onions, and mushrooms, and more underneath. She was quiet for an hour, savoring the best meal in weeks.

So much was lost and wrong, she refused to be sad with such a feast before her. She was a princess after all. She couldn’t slouch. Her people needed her to be strong. She would cry, later, in the dark, and J’shua would comfort her.

Chapter 20

Jonathan

Jonathan traversed an ever-widening circuit from the ruins of his home. It was all he could think to do. Most of the homes were empty, a landscape of sorrow and despair.

Three miles to the west, green fields surrounded a well-maintained cottage, an illusion of peace amidst the chaos. A glimpse of life flickered behind a window, a woman peeked out, but as he approached, the curtain swiftly closed. Undeterred, he called out, “Hallo! Can you help me? I am looking for my family,” Jonathan bellowed. No answer. He went closer and called again. “They are gone.”

A man appeared at the door. “Leave! We don’t want trouble. If the lords’ll take ‘em for a debt, they’ll take ‘em for complainin’ too,” the man warned, his voice laced with fear.

Jonathan hung his head, defeated, and trudged away. Where were they? What would happen to them in the hands of evil men? Men that could steal them away. He had to find them.

Having given up on his neighbors, he went from village to village, town to town, stopping in inns and taverns. He hoped to hear information while surveying the streets for Rebekah or Sarah.

The weeks of relentless searching had left him ragged, his appearance mirroring the torment within. His cloak was filthy, he hadn’t washed or trimmed his beard in weeks. Midday found him drowning his sorrows in a bottle, his thoughts adrift.

All he had learned was that Rebekah had stolen a horse. His wife stole a horse. Ha. She would do anything to save Sarah. That was a good reason to steal a horse. Here he was drunk, he mused bitterly, the irony not lost on him. With another swig, his head met the table, lost in the haze of memories.

When he was six, Daikon Crispus took him to the king. Jonathan was a thief, sure to be sentenced to death for stealing so much bread.

He crooked a smile in his stupor, his head still on the table. The daikon was cruel to let him think so for the long ride north to High Keep.

The only punishment was what he’d given himself through the many hours of dread and self-reflection. It was a lesson he would never forget.

He and Daikon Crispus had waited and waited in an anteroom outside the enormous doors to the king’s great hall. Countless men dressed much finer than Mister Bander, the miller, who also waited. The miller always sat in front at circle. Jonathan wondered why he was there. It’s a long ride from Lorness. His mind conjured many scenarios, but none made sense.

Perhaps someone had complained about sawdust mixed into his flour. His mother had ground her own grain because of that. Surely, that would be a problem for the earl, not the king. Why was Jonathan’s crime worthy of the king’s notice? Perhaps the miller wished to court a noblewoman? His wife died last year, and he was the richest man in his village. He might need permission before doing that. Jonathan suppressed a laugh at the thought of a beautiful young noblewoman walking down the aisle toward the fat miller.

Bander said he’d been there three days.

Jonathan hoped they would never see the king. He thought about sneaking away, but he was tired of being cold and hungry, and the daikon fed him.

Instead, he swung his feet and smiled, evaluating the ideas and images that arose about each petitioner.

One by one the big doors swung open, someone came out and the next went in.

Jonathan could tell this one got what he wanted. The man sauntered past them, smiling. The next, trotted by with slumped shoulders, quickly followed by a pair that were laughing, throwing glances at the sad one. Jonathan prayed to the God of Truth for mercy.

Finally, Daikon Crispus was called. His large hand gave Jonathan’s a gentle squeeze as they entered the throne room. There seemed to be no ceiling. Painted with flowers of every color and birds that filled a blue sky, it made him feel like an ant.

When they stopped, he could see that a small, golden-haired boy, a boy his size, sat next to the king on the throne. The prince.

The king leaned toward the prince. “Well, Sagen. Here he is. Shall we interrogate him?”

“Father, he is a boy, must you call it that?”

“No, indeed, we need not. It is an interview, not an interrogation.” The king smiled, pointing to a chair. “Crispus. You may sit.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The daikon whispered into his ear. “Stand tall boy and do as you are told.” Then he eased himself into the chair.

“Come closer, Jonathan,” The king commanded.

Jonathan did not know why it had surprised him to hear the king say his name. Of course, he would know it. He took a deep breath and strode forward as bravely, shaking.

King Edal asked him many questions, none of them about his crime. The king nodded to his son who jumped down off the throne and paced back and forth before his father’s throne, his hands clasped behind his back. He looked very important.

The prince stopped and eyed Jonathan. “Do you know how to play chess?”

Jonathan looked down. “No… Your Highness.”

The prince turned back to the king, “May I teach him, Father?”

“Of course, Son. It’s only fair that you should share with him the joys of your life as well as the pains.”

“Can we go?” the prince asked his father.

The king waved him off. Sagen jumped over the three steps of the dais and grabbed Jonathan’s hand.

Jonathan took one look at the daikon as the prince pulled him to the side aisle and through a small door. The last thing he saw was his guardian’s nod.

That day he’d become the companion of the prince.

He did his best to do as the king had commanded. But overwhelmed by the sudden elevation in station, he never did fit in.

Gaelib had made sure of that. He seemed to always say something to make the other noble boys laugh at him and point fingers. Gaelib was clever, the prince never saw it.

Jonathan refused to complain to the prince, but he became ever vigilant, striving to never cause the prince embarrassment. Each time they traveled between High Keep and Farr Castle or councils brought the nobles to court, he’d reevaluated what was expected of him, while nobles and their sons vied for influence with the prince.

He’d not realized how much bondage he was in, until he went to the Knights’ School. Such a weight had been lifted. There he excelled. There he was among equals. With the prince he was the recipient of constant unwanted attention. At the school he was almost anonymous.

A bang and loud laughter at the next table caused him to raise his head and take another drink. His thoughts continued to churn.

Much of the king’s wealth emanated from the products of his forests. It was tradition that the king’s royal steward would command Farr Castle, so that its vast forests were not overhunted nor the streams overfished. Jonathan frowned at the sour memory. Gaelib Melazera was now the earl of Lorness and the king’s steward, managing the finances of the whole kingdom.

Jonathan never asked his father-in-law about the loan, he didn’t know who his lender was. Why had he never asked?

Gaelib’s father might have been Rojer’s lender. That would mean Gaelib inherited the loan. Gaelib would not help, the evil drecksa, since he hated Jonathan. The oppressive shadow of Gaelib Melazera, now the Earl of Lorness, cast a pall over those memories.

He laid his head back down.

Perhaps he should go to High Keep, talk to the prince. Prince Sagen was Jonathan’s friend long ago.

The prince might bring him before the king, who could declare those taken free from the terms of collection. However if the monarch believed it was a lawful seizure, he wouldn’t do that. Rulers could be well-intentioned, yet hurt people with bad laws. Prince Sagen may be quite changed. It has been seventeen years since Jonathan lived in the king’s household.

He dropped his head into his hands and whispered a prayer. “Father, please make plain to me where I should go next.” He heard nothing. He slept.

As Jonathan lay in his stupor, the tavern bustled with life around him. A stranger’s touch roused him. It had grown dark. Only a candle lit a circle on each table. “Friend, be well.” Then the man was gone.

He expected a wrenching headache, but when he sat up, he felt…good. He had to get moving. Even his wife had done more than he.

“Father, God of Truth, give me skill to use your sword, your living word, for my attempts are feeble. Send me to fight this evil.”

He had to do something, so he went out.

Jonathan headed toward the market. Two men were fighting outside a tavern. Farmers, it seemed, by their dress. The bigger man shook the smaller as they called each other names. It wasn’t serious; neither had thrown a punch. Still, a noisy crowd formed, and a soldier frowned at them, ending his banter with a shopkeeper to march toward them.

Jonathan cleared his throat. “Friends, could you help me?”

They stopped and eyed him cautiously, their aggression momentarily diffused.

The bigger man dropped the other, saying, “How?” He looked Jonathan up and down, taking in his sword and short bow.

Dusting himself off, the smaller chimed in, “What do you need?”

“Can we sit?” Jonathan asked, pointing to the drinking establishment. “I’ll buy you both an ale.”

The big one shrugged. The other raised his eyebrows and smiled. Jonathan found an empty table, ordered, and told them of his loss.

“Well,” The small one named Randall said, “I know your pain. We lost our wives and young‘uns too. We’re so frustrated; we started bashing each other for the grief of it.”

Too many had suffered this, far too many. This was the first time he’d seen them come to blows.

“You might be onto something. I have wished to die.” Jonathan donned a half-smile. “A solid thrashing might be a fitting compromise. Are there many who have lost their families hereabouts?”

The two shared a pained look.

Randall let out a breath and his shoulders slumped. “At least a dozen.”

“What if we wrote a petition to the king and all signed it?” Jonathan raised his eyebrows.  “I would deliver it to High Keep.”

Randall’s mouth dropped open.

Jonathan looked from one to the other. “What do you think?”

“That’d be brave and very foolish,” the big one, Woodrow, blurted. “Those who appeal to the king languish in a dungeon, or worse, are executed. So the rumors say.”

“If the king executes me, it will end this torture.”

“That be true,” Woodrow said as Randall nodded.

“Would you ask the others? Then meet me here tomorrow night?”

They agreed and slapped him on the back. He felt the most hopeful he had in weeks.