Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
The tunnel ran for a hundred feet, some of it natural, but most of it
dug out in a painstaking process that had taken the Resistance in
Fjellvidden years. Jarl couldn't help but admire their ingenuity and
the fact that it had remained hidden all this time. The little hiding
hole that his foster parents had made for him and his new siblings
beneath their house to hide in when the soldiers came around had been
so cramped that he'd quickly accepted them as brothers and sisters.
And while he'd never lost his sense that he was the grandson and heir
to a powerful thane, he did love his brothers and sisters and would
never do anything to hurt them.
The tunnel turned to the left sharply before a set of stone steps
that led up to a wooden trap door. Just before this was another
hidden door in the stone that Ture opened out onto a small
underground culvert. The morning twilight reflected off the waters
that fed into the culvert and almost threatened to overflow into the
door. Once all four of them were through the tanner shut it behind
them and rubbed his hands together. "The boat. Quickly."
The boat was wide enough for two men to sit abreast, and long enough
for eight men all together. A metal chain hooked to the cavern wall
overhead kept it in place. Jarl quickly noted that the chain was so
short that even at its highest the water would never touch it. He
hated to think how far down they'd have to carry the boat in the
Summer of Autumn. But with the Spring thaw the keel kissed the
water's gurgling surface.
The other two men whose names Jarl had never learned in the two days
he'd been in Fjellvidden hastened to remove the chains and settle the
boat in the water. Behind them they could faintly here the others
running down the tunnel. "Quick, get in," Ture said as he put on hand
on the gunwale to steady it.
Jarl and the other slid over the side. Ture jumped over the edge and
the boat began to turn a bit in place as the inrush and outflow of
river water into the culvert took them. Jarl and Ture took the oars
while the other two readied their bows. They paddled around a bend in
the narrow underground and saw the opening and the river before them.
"Now," Ture said with a vicious scowl, "let's make noise and get
those pups to chase us."
Jarl swallowed, nodded, and started shouting.
----------
The two pups sniffed around inside the mill for a few seconds before
both of them came to the inner wheel. Their clawed hands felt along
the walls, rubbing against the wooden panels and gently knocking as
their black noses inhaled every scent that had been left behind by
the pathetic humans. It did not take them long to find the hidden door.
Gmork's second beat at it with his fist ineffectually a few times
before holding his hand over the door and growling arcane words. A
bolt of blue light erupted from his palm and struck the door with the
force of a hundred hammers. The wood splintered and stuck in his
fur-lined cloak. Behind it they could see the descending stone
staircase, as well as the heavy oaken beam laid across the door.
Another bolt struck this and they were through.
The room at the bottom of the stairs had several cots, a larder, and
strange smelling beakers that reminded them of the putrid Baron's
laboratory. That they had at one time both been mages in Calephas's
employ did not improve their opinion of him. A single lantern had
been left hanging from a rafter, but otherwise there was no sign of habitation.
Remembering their younger brother's words, they both headed straight
for the wooden door in the southern wall. It too had been barred from
the other side, but this time both of them were able to reach and
detonate the frame. Beyond they saw a narrow tunnel and in the
distance they could see humans fleeing down it.
With ravenous howls they jumped through the remnants of the door and
took up the chase, energy crackling along their paws, tails whipping
back and forth with each step, and ears lifted to hear the fearful
cries of their prey.
----------
Gmork's youngest lifted his head when he heard the shouting coming
from his right. He spun immediately, and bounded through a thicket of
close-pressed pine and came to the edge of the river. The water
flowed rapidly past, glinting with a million sparkling azure gems as
day dawned. And riding that swift current was a single long-boat with
four humans madly trying to escape.
His older brother was at his side only a second later, and his voice
barked in his ears, "It's the Tanner!"
One of them, the youngest of the four, pointed with one arm at the
bank where the pups stood. "They've found us!" He rowed faster as two
of them turned their bows on them and nocked arrows.
Gmork's youngest ran along the river's edge, glaring down at the
boat. It was just too far to jump, and even he didn't dare try
swimming in current as harsh as that and with water so cold. His
brother was at his side as they ran, drawing runes in the air even as
the arrows rushed to meet them. But each arrow struck an invisible
wall of force that glowed a sultry violet and bounced away as if they
were twigs.
The brother's ran back toward the mill as fast as they could, only
barely outpacing the boat. His older brother followed him, and he
could sense an odd uncertainty in his gait. It was if he were
following him just to see what it was Gmork's youngest intended to do.
He thought the solution obvious. Catch one of them alive, and they
would have everything. Father would manage that. But to catch them,
they had to reach them. And there was only one place they could do that.
The river flowed into the Arabas not far north from the mill. There
was an old stone bridge crossing the river shortly before that. He'd
seen it as they were heading toward the mill. With the Spring thaw,
there would not be much clearance for the boat. He allowed his muzzle
to lengthen to its fullest extent and ran his long tongue across the
back of his sharp and strong fangs. Maybe Father would let them eat
whoever he captured once he was finished with them.
That thought did not give any celerity to his steps, but it made his
stomach growl as load as his throat.
----------
"Where did they go?" one of the archers asked as they peered at the
shoreline. They both had nocked another arrow, but now they turned
this way and then seeing only the trees. Jarl pulled his oar into the
boat and hefted one of the small jars Elizabaeg had pressed into his
hands. How was something like this supposed to help them against the
pups? Luvig had been so serious about their preparation, but Jarl had
seen none of it. Just what did that scrawny innkeeper's son know anyway?
"Keep your eyes open," Ture said as he guided the boat down the swift
river, keeping them as close to the middle as he could. The water
surface rippled and frothed, driving up in sharp divots a short
distance to their left. Any further in that direction and they would
up end. Any further to the right and the pups might be able to jump
aboard. His hands were stiff and his knuckles as white as ice.
The river bent ever so slightly to the left and once they were around
the bed they could see the long stone bridge. And standing in the
middle waiting for them were the two pups. Jarl's heart froze in his
chest as he swallowed heavily and pointed. "There!"
"We'll be on them any second now," Ture said grimly, keeping his oar
in the water to steer them. "Fire as many as you can."
"They'll get us for sure!" one of the archers shouted as his hands
began to tremble.
"No they won't!" Ture snapped with a deep rumble. "Now shoot!"
The archers let fly with their arrows, but each of them bounced off a
violet shield that appeared only a few feet in front of the two men
deformed with wolf features. One of them crouched at the edge of the
bridge, his black robe glistening with a white oath-swearing human
palm emblazoned on the left breast. That one let vicious jaws open
wide, spittle glistening on his long red tongue. His legs looped
around one of the pillars at the edge of the bridge and then the rest
of his body flung forward, claws reaching out to grasp at them as he dangled.
The boat reached the bridge and the archers ducked down as low as
they could, swinging their bows at the pup's head. His clawed hands
grasped the bows and slashed the strings which snapped with a loud
twang. Both men pressed against the bottom of the boat and still that
beast's claws grasped at their cloaks. But the current was too quick
and his grip too unsure to snatch either of them.
Jarl, eyes wide in horror as the beastly figure rushed toward him,
threw himself into the bottom of the boat as well. A glint of golden
eyes between a brow of auburn blended into a silvery-black mane
thrust toward him with a ravening growl. He felt the jaws clench
tight over his cloak and yank him upward. A scream of horror that may
have come from his own throat resounded in his ears. He felt
monstrous hands grasp him beneath his armpits and hoist him so that
his legs no longer even touched the wood of the boat.
Instinct alone saved him. He swung his arms up to smack the beast's
head, not remembering that he had one of the jars in the palm of his
left hand. The pup, so confidant of success, did not even try to stop
the blow. The jar shattered and a bright yellow powder smeared across
the pup's face, sparkling with a white radiance that dazzled Jarl's
eyes. And then he wanted to gag from the putrid stench of rotten eggs
that assaulted him.
The pup's golden eyes widened in sudden horror and he spat the young
man out, dropping him back into the boat as he clawed at his face to
get the powder off. Ture, ducking low, swung his oar into the air and
splashed the pup with cold water. Brilliant blue sparks echoed across
his face where the powder had struck and the wolf-like creature
howled in agony as he curled back onto the bridge.
A moment later they were swept past the bridge and out into the wider
Arabas. The other pup stood at the end of the bridge and barked an
obscenity after them but did not chase. Jarl lay in the boat, some of
that powder smeared over his left hand, while his other held his
cloak over his face as he gagged for breath.
"What was that?" one of the archers asked as he climbed out of the
bottom of the boat.
"That was Eli's providence," Ture said as he covered his face with
his cloak. "Here, let me wash that off." He took a small wineskin
from within his cloak and gestured for Jarl to hold his arm over the
river. The yellow and almost glowing white powder washed clean from
his arm. Little sparks of flame danced beneath the river's surface
where it washed away.
It still took a few moments before they dared to breath the air
again. Jarl gasped and clutched his chest with his free hand as he
stared at his wine-soaked left arm. The flesh stung but was otherwise
unharmed. Jarl would never doubt Luvig's craftiness again.
"We still have one of them," Jarl said as he produced the other jar,
thumb pressing against the wax stopper fitted so firmly that nothing
could escape.
"But it doesn't look like they're chasing us," Ture said with a
grunt. "They were supposed to chase us."
"What now?" the other archer asked as he fiddled with his useless bow.
"Now we get to shore and head right back there," Jarl declared as he
sat back up. "Right now."
The archer looked past him to the red-haired tanner. "Ture?"
"Jarl's right," Ture said with a grunt as he began to paddle on his
right side. "We need to fine a place to moor the boat."
"There aren't any beaches along the Arabas for ten miles. It's why
Fjellvidden is where it is."
"It's Spring thaw," Ture said with a grunt. "We'll find something.
Row and bring us to the southern bank. We'll find something."
Since it was his idea, Jarl felt no compunction about doing exactly
that. But first, he very carefully set the little jar somewhere it
wouldn't be broken.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4dc7b147268235839567377!
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