Month: February 2024

Back by popular demand, we are delighted to present the second instalment of Hayley Price’s short story. Read Episode One Here.

Jen closed the door behind her and stared into the dawn. Not a trace of breeze blew, the morning breathless from its exertions to drive away the darkness of the night, perhaps. She smiled as she walked down the path toward the gate, the house behind her, Dynnah still asleep in bed. Not for Jen the luxury of a late morning in bed. Her horses needed her, and she had an early departure today, two horses that had been stabled with her for two nights while their owners conducted some business in the town.

The town of Bellindu gradually rose from its slumber. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the bakery and the adjacent tavern like the outstretched arms of one recently woken from sleep as they yawned in the dawn’s half-light. Here and there, Jen passed people headed for their shops or places of work, another day’s labour ahead of them.

For three months, Jen and Dynnah had built on the relationship that began when the Others attacked the town. They were comfortable together but made no great demands of each other. Dynnah had brought happiness into Jen’s life, a satisfaction that she had not known she lacked until the widow bought the large house known as Hummock. Each week, they spent two, sometimes three nights together, usually at Hummock. When Jen’s workload allowed, they rode out into the countryside and explored the woods, hills, fields, and streams around Bellindu. Sometimes they made love in the open air, their cries mingling as they rose into the air, intertwined like their bodies.

Neither had spoken of love, not yet, and Jen could not speak for Dynnah in any case. Jen was happy, comfortable with the relationship as it developed. She had never loved, didn’t know what love would feel like, but if her relationship with Dynnah had turned to love, then she was content, and could imagine no greater sense of warmth or togetherness than she felt in the arms of the owner of Hummock.

People had begun to talk. People liked to gossip, and Jen and Dynnah had expected nothing less when they set out on this journey together. Neither had any experience with another woman, but both knew that if word got out about them, it would set tongues wagging. “Let them wag,” Dynnah had said more than once. That was easier for her to say, of course. She had not lived the entirety of her life thus far in the town, and she barely knew the names and faces behind the wagging tongues. Jen knew them all—wished she didn’t know several of them—but she and her stable were a fixture in Bellindu, and some of the comments that found their slippery, treacherous way back to her hurt, especially those from people she previously thought of as friends.

She pushed the key into the lock of the stable, and opened the traitor’s door, the small door set into the bigger double doors that covered the front of the stable. Why it was called a traitor’s door, Jen didn’t know, didn’t care. Inside, she pulled the iron pegs out of the ground that passed through rings on the inside of the doors and prevented the large double doors from opening, lifted the wooden beam out of its resting place across the slight gap where the two doors met, and pushed both open, back bent, arms outstretched as her legs pushed against the heavy timbers.

Jen fed and watered all the horses, spent some time rubbing the nose of, and talking to, her own horse, Gilpin. She pulled out two saddles and the tack that went with them, ready to saddle the two horses that would leave today. “Let them eat first, though.” She skipped up the stairs into her tiny accommodations and grabbed a chunk of bread from the table, cramming pieces of it into her mouth as she returned to the stable. If the horses broke their fast, why should Jen not follow suit?

Both horses had eaten enough, she thought, so she walked them out of their stalls, fastened a lead rope to a ring outside each stall, and took a shovel and a brush into the stalls to clean up ready for the next guest, whenever it might arrive.

Jen used the back of a hand to brush loose hair back from a face wet with sweat. The owners would probably arrive within the next thirty minutes or so to collect the horses, so she threw a blanket over the back of one, a beautiful roan mare that stood taller than Gilpin, then heaved the saddle onto its back. She bent to the girth and pulled the strap tight, put a bit into the horse’s mouth, and adjusted the bridle. All the tack was high quality; city folks with plenty of money to spend on their animals, she thought. Probably from Werllan, the capital city and formerly Dynnah’s home.

A polite cough from the doorway jerked her head around. Pieter, one of Burgher Vanster’s men, stood there, awkward, shuffling from one foot to the other, his hat tucked underneath one arm. Jen wiped her hands on her trousers, smiled at Pieter. “Pieter. What brings you to my stable on this beautiful morning?” She had known him from childhood. They had never been close friends, but they knew one another. He was perhaps a year older than her, tall, skinny, perpetually pale as though he danced through the sun’s rays, and they never touched him.

Pieter coughed again. “Jen, you’re to come with me to Burgher Vanster’s office, I’m afraid.”

Jen frowned, picked up a brush and idly ran it across the horse’s shoulder. “What for?” Never in her life had Jen been asked to attend the Burgher’s office.

“Ah.” Pieter’s face glowed a bright red, and sweat beaded on his forehead as his eyes flicked from side to side. Whatever reason had brought him to the stable, he did not enjoy it, clearly. “Look, I’m sorry Jen. It’s not me that spreads the rumours, but two men arrived from Werllan two nights ago, and they’ve whispered in old Vanster’s ear non-stop. They claim that your…” He blushed even deeper. “The woman in Hummock, that she has stolen something, and now they’ve accused you both of moral misconduct.” He stared at her, more uncomfortable than ever. “I’m sorry Jen. It’s nobody’s business, right enough, but now Vanster’s been and gone and made it his.”

Jen knew the men he had referred to. They owned the two horses in her stable, one of which she had finished saddling mere moments earlier. The story about Dynnah stealing something alarmed Jen. She knew Dynnah reasonably well, did not think her the kind that stole things. She had money aplenty since her husband had died. What might she have need of to make her resort to theft? As for this “moral misconduct,” Pieter was right. Who Jen laughed with, cooked with, slept with was nobody else’s business. Nobody had the right to demand that the women should answer to the Burgher for their relationship, a relationship that harmed nobody, inconvenienced nobody. “I don’t think I will come.”

“Jen, please.” His voice filled with self-pity even as it begged her to turn herself into the Burgher on some trumped-up charge. “I don’t want to do this. Stillen has already gone for the other woman. They’re taking her to Werllan. Don’t make trouble for me, please.”

An unquiet silence roared in Jen’s ears, filled with words spoken and unspoken. “The other woman?” It sounded ominous that Dynnah was to be taken to Werllan. Jen had to come to a rapid decision, and her growing deep suspicion of the two strangers collided with her concern for Dynnah in an abrupt burst of action. She flung the brush at Pieter, and her aim was true, for once. It hit him in the temple, and he dropped his hat, fell to the ground, where he moaned softly.

Jen grabbed the second saddle and tack that belonged to the Werllan men and raced into Gilpin’s stall. He seemed to sense her anxiety, skittish, snorting. She threw the blanket and saddle over his back. Panic turned Jen’s fingers into clumsy wooden pegs, inflexible, unable to perform the familiar task of slipping the girth strap through the buckle, pushing the tongue through a hole, tightening it. She swore softly under her breath as Gilpin’s eyes turned wild, the horse reacting to Jen’s frantic state. Finally, the girth was fastened and the bridle in position. Jen leaped onto Gilpin’s back, walked him out of his stall. As she passed the strangers’ horse, she slipped the lead rope off its bridle, grabbed the reins, pulled it along behind her.

Free of the confines of the stable, Jen didn’t bother to close and lock the doors. She kicked hard into Gilpin’s flank, and he flew forward. A more placid, docile horse, nobody could wish to ride, but when encouraged to put his ears back and run, he could fly like the wind. Jen’s hair streamed behind her as she pressed her face close to Gilp’s neck and urged him to gallop faster. The other horse followed, scarcely keeping pace with Gilpin.

She saw Stillen as she neared Hummock. He had perhaps fifty metres to go until he came to the gate, but when he heard the hoofbeats, he stopped, turned. He looked surprised, then realisation dawned, written on his face as clearly as the neatest calligraphy. He held up his hands to stop her, called her name.

Jen didn’t stop. Gilpin’s shoulder brushed him, and he stumbled, fell into the path of the second horse, which whinnied as it rode over him. Jen had known Stillen for many years, liked him, drank with him in the Bellinndu at times, but she did not stop to check whether the strangers’ horse had hurt him. She pulled Gilpin to a halt at Hummock’s fence, leaned down to unlock the gate, rode up the path, tugging the reluctant spare horse along behind her.

At the door, she leaped from Gilpin, calling Dynnah’s name. Hopefully, she would be out of bed by now, at least. “Dynnah.” She screamed the name as she opened the front door. Dynnah had been in a dining chair, a plate of food before her. She had half-risen, presumably when she heard the horses, or Jen screaming her name. “Thank the Twain you’re up. We have to leave. Now.”

Dynnah’s face scrunched into a question and alarm at the same time. “Leave? What do you mean?”

“There is no time to explain. They’re coming for you. I have a horse. Leave everything and come with me, now. We cannot tarry here.”

Dynnah didn’t move. “Jen, what is—”

“Dynnah, shut up and come with me now. Men from Werllan are here, and they plan to take you back to the city. I’ll explain more as we ride, but ride we must. Come.” Jen’s flustered, nervous voice cracked as she spoke, and her heart beat so hard, so rapidly that she felt it must fail at any second.

Dynnah still made no move, so Jen grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. With stuttering steps, Dynnah allowed herself to be led, unanswered questions in her eyes, on her lips. “Why have men come for me from Werllan?”

“Hurry, for goodness’ sake. They will not be far behind me.” Jen feared that either Pieter or Stillen would recover from their injuries, race to Burgher Vanster’s office, and his entire force would rush to take them into custody. She and Dynnah must not be here when the authorities arrived. Jen had not wasted time on pondering the rights and wrongs of the situation. She cared for Dynnah and had to protect her.

“Whose horse is this?” Dynnah stood before the horse as Jen untied its reins from her stirrup, pressed them into Dynnah’s hand.

Jen untied Gilpin’s reins from the small seat next to Dynnah’s door. “Yours. Ride it, ride it as fast as you can. If you fall off, get back on and ride again.”

“You’re scaring me, Jen.”

Jen paused, one foot in a stirrup. She turned to Dynnah. “Good, because I am as scared as I have ever been in my life. Once we are away from here, we’ll stop, I’ll explain, and we can shake with fear all we like. For now, let’s go.”

Jen’s entire body trembled as she pulled herself into the saddle. Adrenaline coursed through her, something she had heard described as the “fight or flight” response. Flight it was, for them, for today at least. Dynnah mounted the roan so slowly that Jen wanted to scream., but at last she had herself comfortable in the saddle. Her feet did not reach the stirrups, and she bent to the left hand one. Jen leaped from Gilpin and adjusted the right. “That will have to do. Come on.” Almost breathless with fear, she re-mounted, and they rode down the path.

Jen turned Gilpin right, away from the town, and pressed her heels into his flank. She glanced back to check that Dynnah followed her. The roan cantered along, fell further back with each stride Gilp took. Jen screamed, hoped her cry would carry on the wind back to Dynnah. “Hurry.” To her relief, Dynnah’s heels kicked at the roan as she urged the horse to increase its pace. Dynnah’s riding had improved drastically over the time they had been together. She still might fall off at this speed, but some risks are worth the taking.

They needed a plan, but Jen had none. She had acted on impulse throughout, driven by a fear of what the strange men intended to do with Dynnah if they ever got her back to Werllan. Jen decided that they would ride hard for half an hour or so, then slow down and look for a way to travel across country. They must get off the road, particularly before they reached the next sizeable town, Trawness. Vanster would send his men after the two women, but with a head start and the time it would take him to organise a pursuit, Jen felt confident that they could evade capture for now. What their long-term future looked like could not be seen. They had no money, no food, no clothes other than the ones they wore, not even a spare blanket beyond the two on the horses.

Gilpin panted, his tongue out. Saliva dribbled from his mouth, and Jen guessed they had pushed the horses hard enough for now. Time to give them a break, she reined Gilp back to a fast walk, and Dynnah rode up alongside her. All four of them panted with exertion, both horses, both women. Dynnah looked especially tired. It took some effort to control a horse at high speed for a good length of time; effort, and strength.

Jen turned to Dynnah. “Loosen the reins, give her a rest from the bit.”

Dynnah did as Jen instructed her, wiped a hand across her brow as sweat ran down her face. “What has happened?” Dynnah gasped out the question as she heaved vast lungfuls of air into her body.

Jen explained Pieter’s visit, that the men from Werllan had come in search of Dynnah, claimed she had stolen something. Dynnah looked puzzled, and Jen didn’t press her. She outlined the only plan she had. “We need to get off this road as soon as we can.”

“Who was the man lying in the road outside my house?”

Jen swallowed hard. She hadn’t noticed as they rode off, but Dynnah clearly had. If Stillen hadn’t raised himself from the ground, maybe he had been badly hurt. Jen had not intended for anybody to be seriously hurt, but in her rush to get Dynnah out of the town before the men came for her, she had been careless about whether Stillen had been hurt. With luck, he would be fine, just a few cuts and bruises, hopefully. “One of the Burgher’s men. Gilpin nudged him and he fell. He’ll be fine, I’m sure.” Other concerns gnawed at her insides. “We have no money and no food, and I have no idea where we will go.”

Dynnah sighed. “Is all this necessary, Jen? Have you over-reacted?”

Had she? Had she acted out of blind panic back at the stable, at the thought of Dynnah being taken from her? “I’m not sure, Dynnah. Maybe. I didn’t know what to do. When Pieter accused me of moral misconduct, I thought he must be joking. When he said those men wanted to take you back to Werllan…” She choked on the words and her fear, and tears spilled from her eyes. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Dynnah reached out a comforting hand, laid it on Jen’s forearm. “I understand Jen, I do. My heart is still racing.” She gave a short laugh, and Jen found the courage to smile. “You believe we should leave the road, you said?”

“I do. They will probably come after us, and our best chance to lose them is to cut across country, perhaps towards the Cordon.”

“The Cordon?”

“Yes. It’s a range of hills northwest of the town. You can see them over there.” Jen pointed north at the hills that climbed away from the flat plain that ran between Bellindu and Trawness.

Dynnah covered her hands with her eyes, stared north. “Why ‘the Cordon?’”

“At one time, it was believed that Others lived in the hills and beyond, so the hills acted as a sort of barrier between us and them. The hills came to be called the Cordon. It’s doubtful that Vanster’s men will know this area, and the Werllan men will be completely lost out here.”

“What about the Others?”

Jen chewed at the inside of her mouth. The Others were rumoured to have dwindled in number seriously, but as far as she knew, no major settlements lay on the northern side of the Cordon for league after league. Might there be Others in that part of the nation? Possibly. “We are between the flames and the waters. There might be Others there, but Vanster will surely be in pursuit of us. Which of these evils do you fear the least?”

Dynnah did not even think about the question. “The Burgher.”

“You are probably right if Others are there. We don’t know that though. Not for certain.” Jen heard the indecision in her own voice, knew that she hadn’t sounded convincing.

Jen glanced back along the road. Far behind them, she saw a grey smudge rise from the land to the sky. No clouds disturbed the blue canvas above them that stood ready for the weather’s artistry to paint landscapes and creatures that little girls might imagine as they lay on their backs in the soft grass outside Bellindu. Jen had no time to revisit her childhood now, however. “A fire, I think.” She pointed at the smudge.

Dynnah turned and stared for a time. “Maybe. What burns?”

“Hummock, maybe. They are angry and have burned your house down.”

Dynnah turned to face Jen, stared at her earnestly as though searching for a sign in Jen’s eyes. “You’ve drawn a long bow there, haven’t you?”

Jen shrugged. “Probably.” She turned her attention back to the road. They rode on for a time, and a little after midday, Jen spotted a gap in the hedge, a rough path beyond it that tracked across a field toward the hills. She grabbed Dynnah’s arm, pointed to the gap in the hedge. “We should leave the road here. Unless you’d rather hand yourself in to the Burgher.”

Something flashed across Dynnah’s eyes. Fear, shame, Jen couldn’t be sure. “Let’s take our chances in the hills.”

They turned the horses into the field and followed the track for a time before it petered out. Ahead of them, the hills rose to the sky, seemed to reach higher and higher as the horses plodded closer to them through fields strewn with livestock, crops, or wild overgrowth. They avoided the fields of tall wheat, certain that any path they carved through them would be easy to follow.

By twilight, they had stopped in lowest reaches of the hills. The ground sloped gently upward toward the peak of the hills far above them. They dismounted and let the horses rest, watched as the animals nibbled at the grass. Jen sighed. “They must be thirsty.”

“They must, for I definitely am. Where did this horse come from?”

Jen sniggered. “It belongs to one of the men who want to take you to Werllan. Both sets of tack belong to them too.” She smiled. “I was in a hurry.”

Dynnah leaned in close, kissed her lips gently. “Thank you. Your first thought was for me. I appreciate that.”

Jen fell backward onto the grass. “Yes, well, let’s see how grateful you remain if we cannot find food, water, and shelter tonight or tomorrow. Tomorrow, more likely. It’s dangerous to ride after dark, especially over open fields, or up steep hillsides.”

“We can walk the horses for a while, can we not?”

Jen huffed out her frustration. “I suppose so. It’s safer, but we can’t keep going all night.”

“Anybody who chases us must rest too, mustn’t they?”

“I hope so.” Jen sat up, stared back at the thin ribbon of road below them but saw nothing to alarm her. “I hope so.”

They rested for a time, then took the reins in their hands and walked up the gentle slope. Ahead in the fading light, the hillside steepened, and they plodded on in silence. Jen’s thoughts ran to food and shelter, and a growing uncertainty that she had done the right thing. They had fled, and that had probably compounded their guilt in everybody’s eyes, even though they had done nothing wrong as far as Jen was concerned.

A dark shape loomed before them in the darkness, and Jen handed her reins to Dynnah, told her to wait, then crept forward. A ruined hut, perhaps left over from a farm, shelter for animals or storage for fodder; who knew? It would suit for accommodation tonight. She returned to Dynnah. “I have found us a fine tavern with the best rooms in the area.”

“A bountiful feast on the tables?”

Jen could just make out Dynnah’s smile in the light from the moon. “Serving women, beautiful to behold.”

Dynnah slapped at her, missed. “Show me these accommodations then.” They laughed as they led the horses forward carefully, their cares temporarily forgotten. They took the saddles from the horses, tethered the animals’ reins to the posts of a broken fence, then spread the two blankets out in the abandoned building. Most of the roof had collapsed, and the wall nearest to the hills had fallen out completely, but it provided some shelter both from the chill of the night and from any eyes that searched for them, though the horses might be seen, perhaps. Assuming anybody followed them at all.

Dynnah had never slept in the open, Jen only a handful of times. Every sound spooked Dynnah, and she was worse than the horses. The women didn’t sleep well, but they occupied themselves in other ways, ways that kept them warm at least. The occasional animal snuffled past, creatures of the night that Jen couldn’t identify.

As the sun rose in the east, the horses moved restlessly, and Jen, who had dozed off at last perhaps two hours before the dawn, stirred beneath the blanket, the other underneath them. Dynnah lay close to her, an arm draped across Jen’s stomach. Jen was thirty and two, and Dynnah three years older, but in all their years, neither of them had ever done anything so reckless. Unarmed, defenceless, part way up hills rumoured to be alive with Others, they had slept in a ruined hut and lived to tell the tale. So far. Dynnah stirred, and Jen kissed the top of her head. “Morning, sleepy.”

“Has the innkeeper brought breakfast? I crave bacon.”

“The more you remind yourself of your cravings, the worse they will become.”

“You are no fun on a holiday, young lady.”

Jen laughed. “A holiday? I suppose that it is, though the accommodation so far has disappointed me.” She untangled herself from Dynnah and the blanket, stood and stretched in the dawn air that felt chill on her skin this early.

Jen stepped out of the ruined building, gazed toward the road. She saw nothing, and hope rose in her breast. Maybe the Burgher had not ordered them pursued after all. The first rays of the sun above a few nearby trees hit her, warmed her skin even though its full warmth would not arrive for some hours. She stretched again.

As she turned to retrieve the blankets and saddles, something caught her eye down near the road. Although the road itself was little more than a pencilled line drawn by an unsteady hand across the green parchment of the landscape, shrunk by distance, she had seen something, unmistakeable. She squinted and stared down the hill.

“What is wrong?” Dynnah’s voice came from behind her.

Jen continued to stare, shook her head, stared again, but the image before her did not change. Movement, a mass that moved along the rough track the women had followed earlier. Men and horses, unquestionably.

She sighed, cursed their luck, then turned to Dynnah. “They are following us.”

Dynnah’s face dropped. Abject, wretched disappointment wrote itself in her expression, her downturned mouth, her downcast eyes. Her shoulders followed suit, as her distress surged down her body like a disease. “Why? Why do they risk their lives chasing us into hills potentially full of Others?”

“Whatever they think you have, they would go to any lengths to get, I presume.” Jen could not imagine anything worth the effort, the danger. Even baritheum was readily available, and few would risk their lives for it. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get moving. Maybe they won’t follow us deep into the Cordon.”

They saddled the horses and rode on. Jen glanced back from time to time, and the men continued to follow them. After three or four hours, they came to a cliff face, bare rock with no grass covering it. It stretched before them toward the sky, steep, treacherous, inviting them to try to ascend it so it could cast them down to their doom. Jen stared at it disconsolately. “We’ll have to find a way around. We can’t go back, and we can’t climb this.”

The cliff extended some way either side with no obvious benefit in either direction. Jen turned west for no reason other than the old childhood rhyme. “The sun goes down until tomorrow, returns the morning after. And as for me, the sun I’ll follow, and find a pot of laughter.” They could use some laughter. Their bleak situation, no food, no clothes, no blankets, no water, needed the intervention of the Twain if they were to emerge from it unscathed.

The cliff tapered off after close to an hour of riding, and it curved around enough to hide a pass between the hills that might not be visible from below. When Jen looked around, she could not see their pursuers. If the men turned east at the cliff, and Jen and Dynnah rode through the pass, the men might lose them altogether, or at least be delayed.

Urging Dynnah to trot, Jen pushed Gilpin into the pass, more hopeful than she had been an hour ago that they might finally shake off the pursuit and find some time to make a more robust plan. Above all, they needed food and water soon, or they and the horses could not continue far. The pass narrowed ahead, and rose again, and Jen kicked Gilp up the slope. It took more than half an hour, but finally they emerged into the open. Although they were some distance below the summit, they had passed clear through the Cordon to the other side. Below them spread a vast plain, countryside that Jen knew nothing about. She swivelled in her saddle and saw no sign of the men. “We may have lost them. Let’s ride down and find some food and water.”

Jen’s voice conveyed an optimism she didn’t fully feel, but Dynnah seemed so emotionally taut that Jen believed she must do all she could to keep the older woman’s spirits high. Besides, lack of optimism was no assurance of failure, and she walked Gilpin down the slope toward the plain, dotted here and there with what might have been buildings. For now, they had escaped, they were together, and they were healthy, if hungry. “After everything that happened yesterday, that’s something.”

They chatted idly beneath a cloudy sky, held hands from time to time, and enjoyed a period of freedom from the troubles that had so unexpectedly beset them the previous day. Perhaps all would be well after all. Perhaps they had a whole new life to plan, to build. A scary prospect for Jen, but at least Dynnah had already accomplished one such upheaval, and the older woman’s guidance would be invaluable. Jen smiled happily to herself, despite their tenuous circumstances. They were on an adventure, and who knew how it would turn out?

Jen and Dynnah will return in Crossroads Part III

© Copyright Hayley Price Books 2024