Before the Sky Fell

[ 15 ] People from the Forest

-15-

People from the Forest

Stiff splinters from the rope around Charlotte's wrists dug into raw skin. The Lark forcefully nudged her when she slowed. She stumbled forward, clenching her teeth in disgust and cursing at the creatures under her breath. Rage had boiled inside her, until she grew so tired from the walking and the anger that she nearly forgot about it, trudging onward like a mindless puppet, stepping here when they pulled the rope one way, then there when they pulled it another.

Morning light shone through the canopy, casting gentle glows on the trail of beasts and women. They were hours from the campsite where the Larks had ambushed. They had trekked all night, through a swamp in the dead of night, past prairies with only moonlight and torches to show the way, and through briars that left Charlotte's arms itchy and tender. Her legs ached, her head throbbed, her feet squished around in her boots. Blood or sweat sloshed around her toes.

She hadn't spotted Whik's corpse among the bodies that littered the campsite. She saw Jasper though, with his other hand cut off, fingers still clutching a stick burnt to cinders, a hero diminished to nothing but two severed hands and a stick, a slave turned into a dog's chew toy, his  bloody corpse beside it. She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. She never found out how he lost a hand to begin with.

When the Larks gathered the surviving women, she eyed every form, every figure. None of them were him, but she was so exhausted that her memory felt fuzzy. Did she see his corpse? Was that him, by the fire with the burnt tunic? Had that been his foot, sticking out of a pile of rocks? But there's a chance he  lives, she told herself as she lifted her foot out of mud.

Charlotte's arms felt like string as the Larks tugged the line, sending the women stumbling for balance. They walked in lines of two with hemp hoops around their necks and ropes around their wrists.

Charlotte recognized some of the women with her, though she didn't want to turn her head and anger the Larks. Maddy Forlain was ahead of her, clumps of her hair bunching in areas on her head. She'd never seen Maddy look so disheveled. Normally her hair was neatly braided with a daisy or white lassidwater flower tucked neatly into each plait.Just after the attack, Charlotte had heard the voice of Dana Griem screaming. Tabby May was in front, walking with a limp. There had to be seven or eight others with her, though she hadn't had time to study their faces behind the messy hair, pasty sweat and dried blood.

The Larks' massive feet dangled over their horses as they rode. Their mounts cantered over fallen logs and branches, whipping their tails through the air like agitated snakes. The steed beside Charlotte had to be twice her height, his belly dropping to her shoulders. The horse veered his head and sniffed at Charlotte's neck. His chestnut coat was home to lazy flies that darted towards his forehead and back down to the reddish spot below his eyes.  He reeked of manure, sweat, dead things.

The woman to Charlotte's left blew strands of hair from her eyes. "Where are they taking us?" she whispered.

It was the first time Charlotte heard the woman speak. She licked her chapped lips and turned to the stranger. "If we're still south of the split in the river, we're near Dirandale. They may have already taken the city. Where did you come from? I don't recognize you from Tannuchi."

"Ashwood," the woman said. The woman had a sea of freckles on her face, blood pasted to thin eyebrows, a dirtied ribbon in her hair. "Why are they keeping us alive?"

Charlotte almost stumbled over her dragging dress. She shrugged, too tired to respond. If she had a chance to escape, she'd need every last bit of energy. She looked at the mounted Larks around her. Their shoulders jutted out over the small of their backs. Spikes stuck out of their leather helmets. Charlotte watched her feet as she placed her shoe inside the monstrous footprint of one of the horses.