Shorn: Chapter 29
Near dawn, they stopped and made camp in a little, shaded hollow an arrow-shot from the road. Shorn didn’t want to travel during the day. He wasn’t that concerned about pursuit. It was still probably too soon. What he was concerned about was meeting other people on the road. People who might talk to those pursuers and speak of a girl and her giant companion. He wanted to get Moll back to the farm without anyone seeing her, if possible.
Moll was asleep almost as fast as she hit the ground. Her last words were, “Wake me when it’s my watch.”
Shorn told her he would, though he had no intention of doing so. He was wearied by the last few days, but he was in far better shape than she was.
Sometime in the mid-afternoon, he heard her crying out in her sleep. Hurrying over, he saw that she was thrashing around. He put a hand on her shoulder to awaken her.
He was almost too slow.
The knife came out of nowhere as she jerked back to wakefulness and stabbed blindly at him. He grabbed her wrist, keeping the knife away from him.
She blinked, realizing it was him. Once she stopped fighting him, he released her wrist.
He hadn’t realized she had a knife as well as a sword. Probably, she picked it up while he was freeing the others. For most of his life, he would have noticed. He was slipping, life with Melda and her family making him soft.
He had no regrets.
“You were yelling in your sleep.”
Moll sat up and tucked the knife away inside her clothing. “It’s nothing,” she growled. “Just a bad dream.”
“Okay.”
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Shorn was puzzled. “Like how?”
“Like I’m some lost bunny that needs to be fed with a spoon.”
That didn’t make any sense to Shorn. “I do not think of you as a lost bunny.”
She stood up and picked up her sword. “I don’t need any help.”
Shorn frowned. Where was this coming from? Why was she acting so different than before?
Moll took some food from the bag and started toward the road.
“Where are you going?” Shorn asked, following her. “I thought you were coming to the farm.”
“I changed my mind.”
She was still walking. They were coming to the road. Shorn could hear a wagon approaching, the clop of the horses’ feet, the creak of the wheels and the harness. She would be visible to them soon.
Shorn put his hand on her arm. “This is not wise.”
She jerked her arm away. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’m not your slave. I’ll never be anyone’s slave.” Her eyes were flashing. “Never. I’d rather die.”
“I am not doing that.”
“Really? Then why are you trying to force me to go to your farm?”
“It is your decision. It always was.”
“Well, I changed my mind.” She flung the words at him like a dare.
“Okay.”
She glared at him a bit longer. “You’re not going to stop me?”
“No.”
The wagon was passing. Shorn caught a glimpse of the driver, an old farmer in a floppy hat. Moll waited until he had passed them before stepping onto the road, where she stood, looking both ways uncertainly.
“Where will you go?” Shorn asked. He was really having trouble understanding her change of heart. She seemed no longer to trust him at all.
“I don’t know. Why do you care?”
“I would see no harm come to you is all.”
“I’ll be fine. I always am.” She looked west, shook her head, then turned east.
“There are kingdoms to the east, beyond the Foxtail Mountains. Slavery is illegal in Qarath. You would be safe there.”
She gave him a flinty look. “How would you know?”
“It is where I came from. Before here.”
“And there’s no slaves there?”
“No.”
“East it is, I guess.” She took a deep breath and started that way.
“Since we are going the same way, may I accompany you?”
She stopped, her back to him. She was shaking slightly, some internal battle going on. “You won’t force me to stay at the farm?”
“No. We can supply you with food and other things you need.”
She spun on him, fists clenched by her sides. “Why? Why are you doing all this? You took a big risk coming after me.”
Shorn spread his hands. “You are my friend.” He marveled at the words even as he spoke them and knew them to be true.
She shook her head. “I’ve lived too long to believe that. No one helps anyone in this world without a motive. Everybody wants something. You’re no different.”
“What I want is peace.” It was true. It was why he’d undertaken the hack’in dragh. After a life of war, all he wanted was peace.
Moll gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. Human expressions were often difficult for him. They showed so much, much of it conflicting. A Themorian learned young to hide what was inside.
“Okay,” she said at last. “But I’m not staying. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
She didn’t speak the rest of the day or that night while they walked in darkness. They dropped back into the wide valley wherein Sweetwater and the other small towns of Tidvale and Rocky lay. Still she did not speak. Shorn heard her muttering to herself but no words. Tidvale and Rocky were quiet and dark when they passed them.
The following night they made it to Sweetwater. Moll stopped when they were near and stared at it. Shorn could tell that she was struggling with some strong emotion but said nothing.
“I never should have stayed here,” she said softly. “I should have known better. I should have kept going.” She sounded sad.
It was near dawn when they arrived at the farm. The rooster was crowing, the hens clucking sleepily.
Shorn felt a rush of…something. Was it gratitude? He wasn’t sure, only that something inside him seemed to overflow at the sight of the place. It was good to be back.
“One day only. I leave tonight,” Moll said.
“Beyond this place, you will not need to travel at night. There are no roads, only trails. Merks will not go there.”
Her only response was a grunt.
Melda emerged from the barn, carrying a pail of milk. A cry came from her lips as she spied them. She dropped the pail, milk sloshing over the edge, and ran toward them.
“Thank the gods you’re safe.” She threw her arms around Shorn and held him tight. Shorn hugged her back and enjoyed the feeling. Not long ago he still tensed whenever someone touched him. How much had changed.
She released him and turned to Moll. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” But when she tried to hug her, Moll pulled away with a scowl. A puzzled look crossed Melda’s face as she shot a look at Shorn, who shrugged.
“You must be tired. Come in. I’ll make you some food, and then you can rest.”
“I’m not hungry. Just tired.”
Melda shot another glance at Shorn, her brow furrowed.
“Let her have my room,” Shorn said.
“I’ll sleep outside.”
Melda shook her head. “No. I won’t hear of it. Not after what you’ve been through. Come.”
Something in her tone must have gotten through to Moll, because instead of arguing, she meekly obeyed.
Shorn picked up the pail of milk and took it inside. The children weren’t up yet, but Rascal was. He was sniffing at the closed door to Shorn’s room. The soft voice of Melda came from within. Rascal tilted his head to the side and trilled a question that Shorn didn’t know how to answer. Shorn crouched to pet Rascal, who instead climbed up his arm and perched on his shoulder.
Shorn went outside to see to the remaining chores. While he was letting Patience out to graze for the day, Melda reappeared.
“What happened?”
“I tricked Merks into thinking he was attacked by a monster, one that ate all the slaves.”
Her eyes grew big. “That’s…extraordinary. I can’t wait to hear all the details. But that’s not what I was talking about.”
“You speak of Moll.” Melda nodded. “I do not know. She was ready to come stay with us. But then she changed.” He filled in the details of Moll’s behavior while Melda listened, her expression intense in the way it got when she was pondering something.
“I think I know what it is,” she said when he was done.
“Then tell me, for I have no idea. It’s like another person replaced her while she was asleep.”
“She’s frightened.”
“Of us?”
“Of everything. Don’t you see? She’s been through a terrible trauma. Imagine what it must have been like for her, chained like that, knowing what awaited her.”
Shorn thought on this. “I still do not understand.”
“It’s not just the slavers. Lina told me a little bit about Moll. She showed up in Sweetwater two years ago, more dead than alive. Lina said it looked like she’d been living in a swamp, dirty, scratched, her clothes in tatters. Lina and Fergus took her in, but it was like having a wild animal around. For a month, Moll wouldn’t speak. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She took the food she was given and hid to eat it. She wouldn’t bathe or brush her hair. Gradually, she calmed. She began taking care of herself. She spoke. She got better, but Lina said there was always an edge to her, as if she was always expecting the sword to fall.”
“She has suffered greatly. But I still do not understand the change.”
“She’s afraid. She started to heal, but being taken by Merks reopened all the old wounds. She thought she was safe, but she wasn’t. Can she trust anyone now? She has to wonder if someone in Sweetwater betrayed her. She wants to keep everyone away from her so she can be safe.” Melda had tears in her eyes. “The poor girl. She’s been through so much. There has to be a way to convince her to stay with us.”
“Maybe. But if she wishes to leave, we will not stop her.”
“No. Of course, not. It is her decision to make.”
(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)
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