As the morning grew late, Earl found grass growing more plentifully where the ground sloped up to meet the road. He continued to chomp, then move on to the next patch of green, until the farm gradually faded in the distance behind them.
When Maren looked up from her book, she realized that they were headed toward the village, away from the house. Her first feelings were of panic and dread, but those quickly turned to relief. “We did it!” she declared. “We escaped from Dirtclod McGee! He won’t be bothering us now!”
Let’s hope we can avoid his accomplices, the mule returned.
“Yes, we have to keep going,” she said, and they traveled all the way into Laor.
Laor was a small town with a pub, an inn, and a few shops situated around a square. As they were approaching the village, Maren noticed that there were many more people milling about than usual. They were enjoying pastries, laughing, and carrying on about a festival. Moving closer to the square, she could hear music and see folks dancing and celebrating. The smells and sounds of fun and merriment roused her senses. It had been a long time since she had seen such a sight.
Maren’s heart beat faster and an excitement rose up in her chest. She couldn’t believe her luck. She tied her mule to a nearby hitching post and began walking around the outside of the crowd, searching for the source of those delicious-looking pastries. Finally, she approached a boy who appeared to be about her age. He dressed differently from the children she usually saw in Laor. His clothing looked expensive, and he had dark-brown hair that swept across his forehead. Before she had a chance to say anything to him, he introduced himself. “I’m Micah, what’s your name?” he asked.
“Maren,” she replied eagerly. “How can I partake in the celebration?”
“Oh, I’ll show you,” Micah offered happily. “It doesn’t even cost anything.”
“Really?” the girl asked. “What do I have to do?”
“Just come to the inn with me,” he said. “You just have to write your name down and you can have all the food you want. You can watch a show or go dancing too!”
“That sounds wonderful!” Maren declared. She paused for a moment and surveyed the scene once more. As she did, she noticed the boy hold out his hand and urge her once more to join him. She didn’t take it, but she followed him into the crowd and across the square to the inn.
CHAPTER TWO
Indulgences
Faymia crouched on one knee behind a cluster of blackthorn shrubs. With bow drawn and her powerful silver eye fixed on a wise elk grazing in the near distance, she waited motionless for the majestic animal to expose its side. He’s toying with me, she thought to herself. I don’t know how much longer I can hold my arrow back. Her shoulder burned and her fingers were cold as she steadily held her position.
Just as her arm began to shake, a clicking sound emanated from a lone crow perched in a nearby tree. The beast turned its head toward the noise, exposing its neck for a brief moment, but that was all the skillful hunter needed. She released her bow and, in an instant, the arrow was buried deep into the elk’s neck.
The animal darted away from the blackthorns with surprising speed. As Faymia pulled back another arrow, she heard a deep whoosh above her head as Dulnear leapt clear over her—and the shrubs—in a single bound. He landed on both feet and immediately gave chase. With his large form between the woman and the animal she was unable to land another arrow, so she tore after her husband, and the beast, into the woods.
Many lengths behind, Faymia could barely see the massive antlers of the wise elk bouncing and weaving, occasionally being pulled back when the arrow protruding from its neck would catch a tree as it sped by. Behind it was a blur of fur and steel as Dulnear pursued with a large hunting knife attached to his right arm where his hand should have been.
As the chase continued, the woman noticed that the ground began to slope downward and her strides were getting longer. Her heart raced as trees sped by at increasing speed and greater difficulty of dodging. Something suddenly occurred to her. “It’s headed for the cliff!” she shouted out to the man from the north. “Just let it go!”
As she did her best to slow her speed, her stomach turned over as she saw the elk’s antlers, and then the warrior, suddenly disappear beneath the horizon. “Dulnear!” she cried out in panic.
Faymia quickly but carefully approached the cliff’s edge. As she peered downward, she was awash with relief to see her husband standing on a narrow ledge just a few feet below. He had cut the elk from where the arrow had been lodged in its neck, down to its collar bone. Its life had been spilled out into the sea below. “This knife-hand that Son made me is amazing!” he yelled up to her with an enthusiastic smile.
With equal parts fondness and frustration, the hunter shouted down, “You didn’t need to chase him. One more arrow and he would have laid down for us.”
“That does not sound very fun,” the man replied.
“Neither does hauling that elk up here and back to the horses,” she said through pursed lips.
The smile faded from the warrior’s face as he exhaled and looked down at the slain animal. “You know that I love you, Faymia.”
“Of course,” she said as the corners of her mouth crept wryly upward.
“Will you please bring the horses here?” he asked with a sheepish expression growing across his face.
The sweet sound of the woman’s laughter filled the air and she
