Book II - Exodus (Chapter 4)

When Erich and the hunter’s horsa finally fell out of the other end of the forest, the boy was feeling much better. His strength had somewhat returned, and he felt energized. When he saw, on horsaback, the distance he would have had to travel to reach the Eastern edge on foot, he realized that he would never have made it. The hunter had unwittingly saved his life, and though he thought little of the man, Erich loved him for the horsa he’d left in his path. And the bread. Oh, the bread. It filled him even now, and he had not eaten more than half of it. There had been no leather flask filled with water, but he was free now to ride fast. The horsa would lead him to water, and he would drink.

He kicked the horsa’s side a little harder than he’d been doing in the forest, and it’s head lowered. The ground moved by faster now, and Erich felt the horsa’s legs under him cycle in their mild run. He bent over in the saddle, and took hold of the beast’s mane. He kicked harder.

“Ya!”

The horsa opened up, laying waste to the ground beneath them as it realized its rider was no longer a heavy man. It could run now, and run it did, Erich clinging to the horsa’s back as his eyes watered from the speed. It felt wondrous. Powerful. He looked to his right, cocking his head against the wind so that he could blink away the tears. That’s when he saw it. A shape on the horizon, small and vertical. A smudge, as his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly, and the shape became clearer. A man?

“Whoa, friend! Whoa!” The horsa pulled up, relinquishing its gallop as it shifted easily into a trot. Erich wiped his eyes, blinking. Then he squinted into the horizon, searching for what he’d seen. There was nothing. What had it been? A man? From this distance how would he tell?

A shape on the horizon. It had been a trick of the sun, like the one it plays to make the air shimmer when the heat dries the ground. Like that, and coupled with his watering eyes. He had seen nothing.

And yet as he urged the horsa back into it’s delightful gallop, something gnawed at his stomach, and it was not hunger.

It was the terrible feeling that something was wrong.

***

The river was wide, and yet not terribly deep. Erich knelt at its edge, holding horsa’s pack. He pulled the clear, cold water into his mouth and drank deeply. After five large swallows and he stopped himself, even though his body screamed for more. He would not be foolish; he did not want to vomit and lose the bread he’d eaten. It was good that he stopped, for suddenly his stomach felt full and heavy. Another few gulps and he would have been making a peace offering to the river. Or the ducks, after it floated downstream a ways.

He’d topped a particularly tall and sloping hill and had been shocked to find himself staring down at the river. Its water bubbled musically over rocks and Erich had closed his eyes to listen. It lasted but a moment before he realized that his thirst had pushed its way back into consciousness and was now kicking the horsa down toward the river’s bank.

Now, the sun at its highest, Erich pondered what would come next. How far a ride to Rothkin he did not know. Would he have access to another river before then, or would this be the last water he’d have? The hunter had left no flask with his horsa, so Erich had no way of collecting and transporting liquid, except for in his stomach. That would have to be it. He’d stay here some more hours and drink as much of the water as he could. No point in riding away from anything while it’s still useful. And the river, he could use it for more than hydration. He took the rope from the hunter’s pack and tied the horsa to one of the smaller trees lining the river. It had room to turn a circle, and to step forward and drink if it so desired.

The horsa secured, Erich shrugged off his meager clothing and plunged himself into the icy river. It only rose to his stomach, so the current did not pick him off his feet.

He ducked his head under the water, and came out gasping. It was cold, but that didn’t mean Erich wasn’t feeling the best he had in a long time. Dirt dropped off him like flakes of dead skin, and the rushing water took it away downstream. The boy scrubbed himself raw, leaving the dirt that never seeemed to come off. It was as much a part of his skin as his skin was a part of him.

He hopped out of the river and shook himself, shivering to get warm even though the sun’s rays were already baking into him. He sat down beside his horsa and closed his eyes, letting the sun dry him.

The feeling in his gut was still there, the one that told him that something was wrong, that he had forgotten something. It had to do with the smudge he’d seen on the horizon as he’d been riding. He’d decided it was nothing, but maybe that was a foolish mistake. Breyda had told him there were men who wanted to kill him, and Erich could only assume that as long as he was in Meil he was not safe. So he’d walked for days, ridden through a forest. Who was to say he had not been followed? He must be cautious, even now. A complacent man dies a fool, Krutt had always said.

If he had been followed, he would most likely be being watched as he sat here naked on the riverbank, eyes closed.

Why not? It would be a perfect time to strike.

Erich opened his eyes and whipped his head to the right, scanning the terrain that surrounded the Southern reaches of the river.

He saw nothing but tall grass, bushes, and small trees whose roots were exposed to the river’s eroding path. Still, he moved his eyes slowly from side to side, scanning further and further away. There was nothing. The other side, then.

But the smudge was on my right side as I rode this way.

Just check..

He turned his head to the left now, and faced the North. Immediately he saw what he had dreaded, and his heart skipped a beat. Crouched not more than two hundred yards away was a man, clad in dark green clothes, watching him. The green was meant to be camouflage, and perhaps it worked from longer distances, but in Erich’s vision the man stood out perfectly.

Erich jumped to his feet, and scrambled to the horsa. What an idiot I’ve been. The gods help me if my hands are not nimble enough to untie this horsa.

Seeing that he’d been spotted, the dark green man rose to his feet and began making hand signals. They weren’t for Erich, and once again the boy looked South. A second dark green man rose from behind a bush a mere hundred yards from him, and in his hands Erich spotted a bow.

His heartbeat quickened, and panic started to set in.

No no no no. Untie the horsa. Get on and ride. Go go go go.

But his hands were still numb from the water, and the knot he’d tied had gotten tighter as the horsa had pulled at it. The gods help me, Erich thought.

If only the hunter had left me a blade, something to cut with.

You don’t need a blade. You have a power. Reach into it, kill the men.

Erich played with the idea. It was tempting, that was for sure. He shook his head.

No. I’ve still got time to get away. I won’t kill them, I swore I wouldn’t kill anymore.

His hands were playing at the rope more frantically now than ever before, and his mind was frantically trying to convince him of the best plan of action.

You’ll have to use it eventually, it’s inevitable. These men won’t stop hunting you, you’ve got to kill them. No matter how watchful you are from now on, they’ll find you off your guard at some point and you’ll be dead. Use the power. Kill the men.

He shook his head.

No! I’ve still got time to get away. I won’t do it unless I have to.

One of them has a bow, you’ll be dead before you realize it’s time to use it.

I don’t care.

A part of the knot came loose and Erich enjoyed one moment of triumph until an arrow dug into the ground beside his feet. The horsa reared, breaking the rest of the knot and freeing itself from the tree. For one horrible moment the boy thought the horsa who’d taken him this far would bolt, leaving him naked and alone and in the range of an archer’s shot. A quick look to the first dark green man showed a steady advance. He was jogging through the grass, leaping short distances down the hill that banked the river to the West. In one hand he swung a longsword, of the kind a knight would use. He would reach Erich’s position very shortly, and, if the boy was not gone, end his life.

But the horsa did not bolt, and allowed him to rein it in by the saddle so that he could make an awkward leap onto it’s back. Then he was up, and as he looked to his right he saw the archer loose another arrow. Erich flattened himself against the horsa’s back, and a moment later felt the arrow’s passage through the spot he’d just been occupying.

Kicking the horse’s sides, he spurred it onward, through the icy waters that rose to the horsa’s breast. All the while he kept his eye on the archer, as the other one was no longer a threat. The archer watched the boy go, and lowered his bow. He made hand signals to the other man, and the other man stopped running. And, with both men watching, Erich, naked rode away from the afternoon sun.