Cursed: Traitor's Trail

Chapter 6 Part 2

The afternoon weather cleared enough that the Magi emerged from their shelters, cheer visible in their easy movements and happy laughter. He grinned with bemusement as some even danced merrily while tending afternoon chores. You would think that their safety had been forever ascertained, not that they just faced a close meeting with death...or worse.

Unfortunately, it made for a difficult escape, no matter where he dodged Magi floundered about. The urge to race out to the steppes and ride southward rose to a desperate pitch. Already, the sun passed its high point. Time edged away.

Worse, Hamor directed three youth, all standing around the new mouse enclosure. One of the does gave birth during the winds and the boys worked to remove the newborns and the mother from rest before instinct took over, and the herd killed them.

He had a vague hope to retrieve his mount, but it seemed the option failed him, unless he wished too many questions and another load of duties. Only one choice remained, going on foot. The problem being that lone men wandering the steppes tended to become a snack for the demon population. Without the safety of numbers he would be highly vulnerable.

He couldn't wait on a chance at the enclosure. If he lingered longer, his messenger might be gone. If luck traveled with him he might be back before nightfall. But he needed to leave now, and if he was stealthy...

He ambled casually away from the mice and slipped between two tents. Beyond the training field the grasses rose high enough to block view of his passage; if he made it that far without being spotted. The vegetation rose before him, his one hand poised to press blades aside when a voice behind him spoke.

“Hi Jaob.”

Jaob whipped his hand back from the grasses and faced the owner of the voice. He turned more carefully than the nerves inside urged. Melak appeared from around the nearby grasses, a handsome boy, still young, but the sadness and intelligence that lingered in the depth of his eyes gave the impression of wisdom and age. What set him apart the most though, was the limp of a dead leg. He remembered when Bane had appeared with him nearly a year before, broken and bleeding. They'd done their best to treat the wounds, but the leg never set. Sometimes he wondered at the cruelty of saving the child, his chances of survival into adulthood were slim. Bane worked with the boy many mornings, teaching him swordsmanship and moves that could balance the disadvantage of his dead leg. It raised the boy's status enough that the other children would play with him. What Bane gained from the relationship he didn't know.

“Melak, what are you doing over here?” he demanded. Could nothing go right? He just wanted out of the village.

Melak studied the ground, nudging the dirt with the side of his bad foot by dragging the limb back and forth. It looked awkward...and painful, though he didn't flinch. Each movement made Jaob grit his teeth in sympathetic pain until; at last, he turned away.

“Are you going somewhere?”

When had his life become subject for everyone to comment on? He longed for the days when he went where he pleased and no one cared.

“Mind your place," he snapped. "Go find some children to play with,” frustration gave his tone a sharp edge. As soon as the words passed his lips Jaob regretted them. Never had he been so harsh with the child, many times he encouraged the boy's interest and questions. He sighed, his actions were inappropriate, especially for a grown man.

Shame clouded Melak's face and tore at Jaob's heart, and he found he couldn't bring himself to leave the child standing there like that. Bane would be angry too.

If Bane ever returned, he reminded himself bitterly. His temples throbbed uncomfortably.

“Melak, where I am going is a secret. You cannot tell anyone that you saw me leave, alright? I didn't want anyone to know, but maybe I was wrong for telling you to mind your own business; you are old enough to be trusted.”