Cursed: Traitor's Trail

Chapter 4 Part 2

Hello again! Finally back to updating NEW parts :) Enjoy!

Dust blew through the village, forcing itself between tents, knocking loose bits against themselves, and then through until it danced around the well. The only thing that supported them and kept the Magi rooted in one place instead of wondering as the nomads did. As it traveled, it began to form ominous swirls. More than one Magi in New Hope looked to the steppes warily. The conditions were ripe for a storm.

“Nauni,” Jaob called as one of the younger women passed by. “Cover the well.”

It would not do to have it filled in. The girl nodded and rushed to comply.

Jaob joined the others in studying the horizon. So far the winds pushed along the ground. Low and strong, but that meant little in such a temperamental climate. Just because no dust wall has appeared doesn't mean it isn't out there somewhere, waiting to overwhelm us. A bigger concern lingered too, and he listened for the call that would indicate a rider returned. He still had men missing from the previous mission. For them to be out and unsheltered in a dust storm...he hoped that they were wise enough to seek a resting place for the day. Their efforts were complete anyway. The king's men gone on to their new task and the wind would quickly erase any remaining trail. It may even move enough dust to confuse the landscape in case the men returned. I can always hope.

Down the trail from where Jaob stood, several men gathered, their urgent gestures suggested they discussed the winds and which storm preparations to make and which to leave.

Jaob approached them.

“What do you think?” he asked Hamor, one of New Hope's appointed village elders, when he reached the cluster.

The man looked toward the sky, wrinkles around his eyes collapsed upon one another as he squinted; he turned to the flailing grass at the edge of the village. Then, as one used the highest respect might do, he turned and eyed Jaob with the firmness of a grandfather lecturing a child.

“A dust storm awaits in these winds,” he said at last, “but there is no telling when it will choose to show itself.”

Jaob nodded, this he already knew, but he allowed the man the power that came with the announcement.

“Then we will prepare,” he agreed, nodding to the younger men who stood listening.

They moved off quickly, softly debating which duties to see to first. But the old man stayed, focused on the steppes. Jaob tilted his head, did he know something more?

“Something more Hamor?”

“There is water in the air, I sense it,” he rubbed withered hands along the loose skin of his arms.

The old man's magic had something to do with water, Jaob remembered. They had been unable to use magic without the king's detection for so long that it was easy to forget. But sometimes, even without using one's power, sensitivity could develop. An instinct. Just as Jaob sensed the powerful wind laying behind the growing breezes, though he could not tell when they would emerge, or even if they would at all. Wind was an unpredictable element after all.

“We should move the mice from the pit,” the man continued, looking at Jaob uncertainly. “It is a small chance, but there may be a flood in this one.”

Jaob tapped the sword at his side. A flood threatened any time it rained in the Godforsaken steppes. The dusty ground, packed and dried from too many years under the hot sun with little moisture, could not absorb rain quickly. That left the water to run off in temporary rivers and waves overtaking every low-lying thing in its path, such as the pit, where the Magi kept their mice hidden from the view of natural predators and the king.

He frowned to himself. Now was not a good time to be making themselves more conspicuous, just because one unit of the king's men had left off didn't mean that another wasn't on its way to replace them. He didn't trust the grasses of the wasteland to keep them hidden. And none of the scouts returned to tell him the area was clear. Still, risking the Magi's herd was unacceptable. Many of the does were about to give birth, for which they needed to be separated from the rest, making them vulnerable.

“Let me send a rider to check for immediate danger. In the meantime, you may erect a shelter for the herd above ground, and separations for the mothers.” Jaob suggested. A command would have been more appropriate, but Hamor's history--one where he was a head elder, a leader for many years--made him sensitive to such things. The change was a large blow to his later years. The old man appreciated a bit of deference, and it did not cost Jaob to grant it to him. Yet another thing father would have disapproved.

Hamor nodded sagely. “I will gather men to begin the shelter, behind the old stump where it is most protected.”

There were many old stumps in the ancient burned-out copse, but the one he spoke of had somehow been overtaken by the rest of the village. It now sat proudly among the tents and shelters of the people.

Jaob nodded a mutual agreement. Yes, they would build this shelter, and then perhaps he could relax momentarily. No one attacked in a dust storm. No one moved within a dust storm. To do so committed oneself to death. The Magi would be safe from everything except the elements.

It is a good thing I didn't send riders out after the kings men, only to die in the storm.

Guilt twisted his gut at how his argument with Bane had ended, his friend only cared about the Magi's future. He didn't want Bane to feel that he undervalued his advice.

His eyes wandered to the fat stump that sat amid the tents. About three quarters up, a hollow darkened the surface, opening to the south. Bane lived within it, eschewing the regular skin tent that Jaob offered him. He studied the hollow critically. It did offer an advantageous view of the village, and even a fair amount of the surrounding steppes. What it lacked in comfort, it made up for in strategic placement, he supposed. Jaob had been glad for the choice when Bane brought the owl chick home, intending to keep it. What damage would that monster do to a tent? Demon's breath, he was still wary of the lack of damage it had done to New Hope. But Bane had assured him that the creature had imprinted on humans and would do no harm. He even slept with it.

Jaob shuddered. If the demon hadn't proven so useful, he would have slaughtered it by now. He wouldn't trust it enough to sleep next to it. He had no desire to wake with his insides on his outside.

Bane would be the perfect choice to assess the immediate area. He was efficient and fast; and having something to do would likely improve the man's mood and their relationship.

“God's health to those within,” he called from the bottom of the stump, looking upward. No sign of movement graced the hollow. Sighing heavily, he grabbed the rough-hewn handholds carved into the charred wood and began to climb. Bane was often moody, but he was reasonable. Once Jaob made his request, the man would comply.

But at the top, he found the hollow empty. The sleeping pallet far at the back was devoid of blankets; several feathers from the demon floated across the abandoned space.

Where is he?

A trickle of dread and certainty entered his mind, and suddenly Jaob knew that Bane was gone. He had left to trail the king's men; against orders, against Jaob's wishes.

Hurt stabbed him like a sword in the side. Bane was, of course, a free man. All the Magi were; none belonged to Jaob. But he worked hard at gaining their trust to lead, and the thought that Bane, his most loyal friend, did not trust his judgment enough to honor his decision stung.

For a moment, he questioned everything. What am I doing here?

Below, men gathered, carrying supplies for the shelter Jaob had ordered, men who followed and trusted his orders. He could not let one man, not even Bane, change his determination. Not while others looked to him to lead. He climbed downward, setting Bane from his mind. Later, he would have time to consider the implications, to brood. For now, he had work to do.