Fool’s Quest

All the men behind him roared with laughter at his protest. Ellik laughed until his face was bright red and then wheezed out, “Your cock has no eyes! She’ll do for you. She wouldn’t bring anything at the market anyway!”

Odessa had half-fainted, sagging to her knees, held up only by the wiry old man’s grip on the neck of her shirt. Ellik was stronger than he looked. He gave a sudden heave, pulling her to her feet and swinging her into Hogen so that he had to catch her in his arms or fall himself. “Take her, you hound!” All humor suddenly fell from the commander’s face. His expression was savage as he said, “And remember this night well when I deduct her value from your share of our take. Don’t think you can whine and bargain with me, boy. I set the bargains. And this ugly rag of skirts is what you get from me tonight.”

Hogen stared at his commander over Odessa’s bowed head. She had come to her senses enough to struggle feebly, her hands paddling at Hogen’s shirtfront. Hogen’s face had gone dark with fury but as he met Ellik’s gaze, his eyes dropped. “Stupid bitch,” he said disdainfully, and I thought he would cast Odessa back into the other luriks. But instead he shifted his grip on her, catching her one-handed under the throat and dragging her off with him. The other soldiers, gone silent for a short time at their commander’s rebuke, followed him with sudden shouts and offers of wagers and demands to be next upon her.

Dwalia did nothing. Her followers huddled behind her like sheep. I wondered if each was secretly glad the wolves had dragged off Odessa and not herself.

Not wolves. Wolves feed when they are hungry. They do not rape.

I’m sorry. I could tell I had offended Wolf-Father.

“Come.” Shun dragged me behind a snow-laden bush. “They won’t stop with her. We have to escape now.”

“But we’ve nothing with us . . .”

From the other campfire, we heard short bursts of screams. The men mocked Odessa, whooping along with her. Shun’s grip on my shoulder began to shake. “We have our lives,” she whispered angrily. “That’s what we flee with.” I could tell she could scarcely get breath into her lungs. She was terrified. And trying to save me.

I could not take my eyes off the huddled luriks. Dwalia was a standing silhouette against the firelight. Abruptly she moved. “Ellik!” She shouted his name angrily into the night. “We had an agreement! You gave us your word! You cannot do this!” Then, as I saw the two men he had left watching the luriks move toward her, she shouted at them, “Do not block my way!”

“That’s . . . stupid.” Shun’s voice shook out of her body. “We have to run. We have to get away. They’ll kill her. And then there is nothing between them and us.”

“Yes,” I said. I listened to Wolf-Father. “We must leave no fresh tracks. Move where the snow is trampled already. Get as far from the camp as we can while they are busy. Find a tree-well, a place under an evergreen where the branches are heavy with snow and bent down, but the ground around the trunk is almost clear. Hide there, close together.”

I’d reached up to take her by the wrist. She let go of my collar and abruptly I was the one who was leading her, away from Dwalia and her paralyzed luriks, away from the campfires and into the dark. Odessa’s screams had stopped. I refused to wonder why. We moved furtively, until we were at the edge of our campsite. Shun was not speaking. She simply followed me. I took her to the trail the horses and sleighs had made through the snow when we first arrived. We were moving steadily, both of us breathing raggedly with fear, backtracking the trail of the sleighs and horses. The forest was black, the snow was white. I saw a game trail crossing our path. We turned and followed it, leaving the runner tracks behind us. Now we moved as deer did, ducking our heads to go under low-hanging, snow-laden boughs. “Don’t touch the branches. Don’t make any snow fall,” I warned. On a rise to our left, I saw a cluster of evergreens. “This way,” I whispered. I went first, breaking trail through the deep snow. I was leaving tracks. We couldn’t help that.

The snow will be shallower in the deeper forest. Go, cub. Do not hide until you are too weary to run any farther.

I nodded and tried to move faster. The snow seemed to clutch at my boots and Shun made too much noise. They would hear us running away. They would catch us.

Then we heard Dwalia scream. It was not shrill, it was hoarse. And terrified. She screamed again and then shouted, “Vindeliar! Come back to us! Vinde—” And her voice was cut off, as swiftly as one quenches a torch.

I heard frightened voices, a chorus of them, some shrill. Questioning, like a flock of chickens woken in the dark of night. The luriks.

“Run now. We must run now!”

“What are they doing to her?”

“Vindeliar! He must help us.”