The twelve large carriages stood off to the south side of the road. Surprisingly, the guards had no interest in me beyond my ability to pay. I sat with my back against a tree, watching as the mummers' performance near the entrance of the village ended. I didn't want to risk being recognized, so I remained in the shadows of the many lanterns with my hood pulled down low.
The villagers, many of whom I knew, ran from cart to cart buying and selling. Somewhere further into town. Music was playing, and in the middle of the street, youths danced to the tune.
It didn't take long before I spotted them. Bren and Dariah walked hand in hand, sharing loving smiles. While Aalis, escorted by her brothers, shopped with glee.
A young girl from the mummers' play approached Aalis and placed a crown of blue flowers on her head. She beamed and ran back over to Bren. After a short conversation, Bren laughed loudly, boisterously, and with happiness. Aalis twirled in place, her beautiful green dress flowing around her, drawing the eyes of all.
Boys and men looked at her with desire. Bren, being a towering man, made them dread approaching. From the darkness of the trees, I watched as they perused the many wares on offer. Then stopped and listened to a handsome man playing a lute. Even Bren, a man that I had never seen sing or dance, was pulled out of his stone shell to dance with his wife.
Villagers clapped along as Bren and Dariah circled, hand in hand. The husband and wife had eyes only for each other. It was love, true love. I wondered how that felt. All my life, I have heard stories of men slaying dragons for the love of a woman. Or a woman’s kiss bringing a lover from the dead. Even Anier herself was a goddess of love in some stories, and war in others.
My face slowly twisted in rage. I would have loved nothing more than to plunge them all into hellfire. To see the sweet laughter and joy that permeated the air, be filled with screams and cries of despair. None of them deserved such happiness.
Before I lost myself in anger, I headed back to the transports. Halfway back, I spotted Dim and Helan. They were near a stall that sold thick woolen coats. I watched as she perused the store for some time. She had Dim model clothes for her before settling on a deep brown coat, lined with fur. She smiled softly as Dim posed for her, sporting that same stupid smile he always wore.
“Goodbye, Dim,” I whispered, then turned to leave.
~
I endured a sleepless night, sitting against the stump of a dead tree, hidden from the milling crowd by the wagons. Eventually, the festivities came to a close. Stalls and goods were packed, and everyone was prepared to rest. As expected, after finding me missing, neither Bren nor Dariah sent someone searching. In the dead of night, they wouldn't be able to find anything.
I needed them to find the remains of my clothes long before I left. Too soon, and Bren and the Headman would be compelled to investigate the caravan. Which could lead to my discovery. I wanted them to find it days, if not weeks, after my departure.
~
At sunrise, the cornucopia of people was roused from slumber and prepared to leave. Some slept in tents, the village inn, and others under carts. The poor slept on the side of the road.
“Wake up, people, I want these wagons packed within the hour,” The leader of the transport, Ruben, shouted.
The wagon was little more than a large box with a seat for a driver. We were packed in like sheep. I was sandwiched between two men. Each transport could hold twenty people, with twelve transports and the trip from the border to the capital taking roughly a month, he stood to profit a significant amount of coin, assuming all transports were filled. From overheard conversations, each passenger had to pay fifteen to twenty bits. That was at least 3600 bits a month, and based on how pressed in we were, the wagons were overfull.
I sat with my hand around my knees, hood pulled low, bag secured to my person, using only my hearing for guidance. Merchants and tradesmen sold wares to last-minute shoppers.
“The headman’s requesting the roads be cleared quickly,” My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as I recognized Bren's voice.
“I’ll clear the road when I can. The entire caravan moves as one guardsman; it can't be rushed,” the driver of my carriage said.
“Fine then. Before I leave, have any of you seen a girl with black hair and eyes?” Bren asked.
“Look, ask the cap’n's squire, he has the manifest; we take names and descriptions. She ain't in there, she ain't in here,”
“If I could just check each carriage,”
The man became irate, “I ain't got all morn’ ask the cap or bugger off it’s not our fault you can't keep track of your women,”
Bren sighed in frustration and left.
A few minutes later, I could hear guards checking the carriages, asking people with cloaks to remove hoods.
Fear ripped through me. And I considered what to do. Taking a risk, I gently pulled down my hood before a guard reached our carriage. My hair was still slicked back and looked mud brown. It took weeks of experimentation to find the proper combination of oil and river clay. I pressed my head against my knees, pretending as if I had fallen asleep. The sun wasn't very high, so there was a good chance my hair still looked convincing.
A minute later, there was a shift in the carriage as someone hopped up on the driver's seat.
“Oi, you in the hood, let me see you.” Someone to my left shifted and removed his hood. After a minute, the man hopped off. He was behind me since I was facing the rear of the wagon.
“She ain't ere Bren,” The guard shouted.
“Alright rufus thanks,” Bren sighed, “I bet she’s cavorting with whores again,” he complained to no one. After a pause, he said, “Apologies, captain.”
The captain only grunted in annoyance.
My heart rate slowly dropped as Bren and the guards left. The driver started to speak from behind me.
“Alright everyone we got simple rules: Sit your arses in the carriage when we say, we stop once to relieve ourselves and leave within the hour. If you’re not in the wagons, you get left behind. If we rest for the night and you're not in the wagon at the crack of dawn, you get left behind. Follow orders, anyone wanders off, we won't come lookin’ for yuh and you get left behind. If you didn't pay for food, you go hungry. If you starve on the journey, it's not our fault. Only payin’ consumers get food and don't complain that you're little boy or girl is hungry. It's your own damn fault. Lastly, if you we’re attacked and one of your family members died. You don't get a refund. We'll defend you, but it's your responsibility to not get in the way. Now, everyone get comfortable, you'll be 'ere for a while.”
~
Travel was painful, monotonous, and somehow lonelier than I had expected. Though I was pressed against other people, there was little conversation. The only thing that broke the constant silence was the occasional cry of some babe.
Poor and desperate is what I would describe the people in the carriage as. They reminded me of myself–cheap homespun canvas with bare feet seemed to be the current fashion for the destitute.
The forest rolled by at a decent step, perhaps twice the speed of walking. It could have been worse; my anger only spiked when I smelled the scent of shit wafting through the carriage when the wind shifted, from south to north. The babe, who was still in swaddling clothes, had soiled itself twice. The only way to pass the time was to sleep, but a fresh whiff of feces killed that possibility. Though I was hungry, I dared not touch my jerky or hardtack, lest one of the hungry wretches tried to snatch it from me. Sighing, I settled in for a long journey.
~
It took another four hours for a stop to be called. The protracted line of carriages pulled over to the left side of the road. Men and women sprinted into the nearby woodland, desperate to relieve themselves. The rest would last at least an hour, so I had time to head deeper into the forest than most. The coachman assured us that there weren't any predators to worry about. Still, while I relieved myself, I made sure to keep an ear out.
After finishing, I pulled on my pants and headed back to the camp. As soon as I rounded the tree, I was met by a man. He had an average build, brown hair, and eyes, perhaps an inch taller than I was. A part of my mind recognized him as the man to whom I sat next.
Was this an accident, or did he follow me?
I tried to walk past him, but he stretched a hand out,” Where you goin’, lass?”
My heart nearly leapt out of my throat.
Don't react. Figure out what he wants. He followed you out here for a reason. Act scared and wait for an opportunity.
“W’what do you mean?” I asked.
He grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “I saw your hair when you took it off, smart, the idiot didn't even bother to check your face once he saw it.”
“You want something?” Assuming he was like most scum, he wanted what was between my legs.
He chuckled, “You know, Ruben don't like liars who give false names. Might just leave ya behind or worse, try to collect on a bridal bounty,”
I knew about the bounty on runaway brides. They were rather lucrative, especially if they remained unspoiled. That was why I tried to make it look like I was raped and my body tossed in the river. No one creates a bounty for a dead woman. If he talks, the illusion breaks. And we were only half a day from the village. I cannot allow him to reveal the truth.
I used my normal voice, “Well, since you haven't ratted me out, we can make a deal.” I removed my hood and tried my best imitation of a seductive smile. I've seen whores do them enough.
He chuckled and licked his lips.
“Well, since you're offerin’. We have a little fun and I don't talk. Sounds like a bargain,”
Disgusting.
Nothing was stopping him from revealing my secret. Would he hold it over my head? Of course, he would. Every time we stopped, no doubt, he would want me to spread my legs for him. How long before he asked for my food or coin?
Sighing in mock defeat, I said, “Deal, but let's head deeper into the forest. I don't want anyone stumbling on us.”
He grabbed his crotch suggestively and said, “Aye, let's.”
I turned around and walked further away from the camp. Since we were next to each other in the carriage, I was sure he didn’t mention it to anyone else. Which meant there was one guaranteed way to deal with the situation.
Can I really do this?
One minute turned into two, then five; no one was anywhere near this deep. Fear, unlike any I had felt before, rippled through me. At that moment, I realized that for all the sadness of my youth, I had never felt this particular kind of fear. Doubt rippled through me as I contemplated whether I could truly go through with it.
Is that it? Not a day from Farway and already you crumble because of some horny fool. You’re on the path to becoming a magus; did you really think it would be easy? Steel your mind, coward. Remember the cold, remember the lashings, remember the hungry nights, remember them all watching you with unmasked destain. Edith the thrice-cursed, Edith the unwanted, Edith the unloved. Your entire life was worth 12 talons to them.
If you can’t cross this barrier, then you’re unworthy of becoming a magus.
I chastised myself, hating my weakness.
I let the fire inside consume me, burning away fear, hesitation, and doubt. It was time that Edith died. I turned around, tossed my cloak and bag to the side, leaned against a tree, and smiled.
Magic requires sacrifice.
He was on me immediately. One hand grabbed me roughly through my cotton pants.
Making sure that nothing was there?
The stink of him only served to feed the fire. The feel of his hand on my flesh made my skin crawl. The tongue on my neck nearly caused me to lose my stomach. I let groping go on for a minute, for him to savor his conquest. Once I was sure he was consumed by his lust, I acted.
He was in the middle of licking my collarbone when I leaped onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist. I felt him grinning against my neck and muttered, “Oh baby, I knew you wanted it.”
At the sound of his voice, the last of my hesitation burned to ashes.
Die, worm.
I screamed in my mind.
Sim’s dagger was still belted behind my back. In a single motion, I grabbed the hilt, drew, and with all my rage, rammed it into his back all the way to the hilt. Over and over, I plunged the dagger, his canvas shirt offering little protection against cold steel. I felt a fresh burst of hot blood coating my hands after each thrust, accented by beautiful cries of pain from the worm. All the while, he tried to fight me off, but his strength meant nothing in this position.
After ten strikes, the dagger got lodged into his spine. He coughed up blood and fell backward, carrying me with him. I lost my grip on the dagger, rolled to the side, and stood, checking my surroundings. Aside from the man's pained breathing, the forest was silent.
He spat out blood as if he were choking. It went on for another minute before he was still. I stared down at his body, the rage slowly dissipating. His lifeless eyes stared at the sky as if still in shock. To my everlasting surprise, he was still erect.
My stomach clenched, I turned to the left, fell to my knees, and emptied my stomach on the forest floor.
I killed a man. I actually killed a man.
I didn't know what I was feeling, and now wasn't the time to deal with those emotions. I looked at my right hand, soaked red with blood. My breathing was heavy, and no matter how I tried, I couldn’t catch my breath.
Deal with it later, clean your face of the blood, get the dagger, hide the body, and return to the caravan like nothing happened.
Quickly, I cleaned it off with my water skin and then ran to my bag to pull out another shirt and pants. I patted myself on the back for getting two pairs of the same clothes. After checking his pockets and finding nothing but a few bits, I dragged the body to a nearby bush, so it was out of sight. I kicked dirt over the growing puddle of blood, then grabbed my dagger and cleaned it as best as I could. I ran around thirty feet towards the camp and turned to look at where it happened.
It wasn't obvious. Hopefully, no one would come across it. The man never spoke to anyone the entire time, so it was unlikely anyone would risk looking for him. The porters were already paid and certainly wouldn't risk their necks for some random peasant. After triple-checking that I had no blood on me, I put on my cloak and jogged back to the caravan.
~
I stood against a tree apart from everyone. Every time someone glanced at me, I feared they knew what I had done. Time seemed to pass in slow motion. My mind was unwilling to release me from the image of his dead eyes, the feeling of the dagger plunging into his back.
The relief when boarding was called was palpable; the farther away I could get from him, the better. Once again, we were packed inside the transport wagons. Pressed body to body. Roll was called, and a man named Clark was missing.
“Go check if he’s nearby, he's got to the count of a hundred,” Ruben ordered.
One, two, three…..
I counted in my mind. I didn't even reach sixty before Ruben announced, “Move out. Let this be a lesson. We don't wait on stragglers.”
No one complained, and why would they? In the end he was just worthless scum.
With horses spurred into motion, the caravan rolled forward. I kept counting, not wanting to contemplate my actions. At around 15,000, I fell asleep.