Chapter 8 A Promise in the Dark
Chapter eight
A Promise in the Dark
The trio rode their swift steeds hard for two days, following Roy Sutter’s map.
As twilight closed in, Leif’s sharp eyes had spotted the round top of Stone Mountain.
Some ruins, more forest, and several ribbons of water between them—maybe another hour on horseback—but it was best not to try the rest of the way after dark.
Even though they’d never been there, the map showed the capital city just west of the solitary dome that loomed above the treetops.
“Let’s make camp here,” Lark suggested. The rickety, long-forgotten warehouse, its roof mostly intact, would provide some shelter. The scent on the wind told her rain was coming.
“Thank God!” Milena groaned as she gingerly dismounted her bay mare. “I’m not sure I can still walk.” She rubbed her hips as she tried to straighten her legs.
Leif slid from his saddle with ease. “Here,” he said, handing his reins to Lark. “I’ll gather some firewood.”
“Keep an eye out,” Lark warned, “and don’t stray out of my sight.”
“Yes, ‘Mom,’” he teased—but Lark had reason to be wary. A lone warg had shadowed them for most of the day. Leif said they’d lost it when they crossed the Oconee River, but she wasn’t so sure.
“My butt is so sore.” Milena winced, unpacking her bedroll and pillow. She glanced around for a clean spot to spread it out.
“Mine too,” Lark admitted. She unsaddled the horses, stowed tack and gear inside the shell of the warehouse, and led them to a grassy spot.
There she ran a picket line and tied the horses to it so they could graze without wandering off.
No way was she putting Gramma on the spot with Talon Jones if they lost his fine stock.
Leif dropped armfuls of sticks and branches, which Lark cut to size, and Milena stacked them into a log cabin-style structure, great for long-lasting fires that required little tending, since they needed it for light and protection, not heat.
“Here,” Leif said as crickets chorused and dusk thickened. He set his hat, filled with blackberries, beside the bag of food Gramma had packed for them. “Fresh and juicy.”
“Thanks.” Milena popped one in her mouth before distributing two-day-old cornbread muffins and jerky.
Lark frowned. No butter or jam—again. But she had no room to complain.
As a small child, pickings had often been slim.
She recalled the summer with the freak snowstorm that had ruined their garden and the year a hurricane blew all the immature fruit out of the trees, washing it away like little green offerings to some foreign god.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling at Milena. Milena looked good in her many-pocketed khaki pants and spring-green tank top.
She’d removed her long-sleeved, gi-styled, wrap-around jacket she’d worn to protect from briars and sunburn, laying it on her bedroll.
But a heavy heart weighed on her, more oppressive than the darkness of a starless night.
Thunder rolled in the distance as a gust rushed through the hollowed-out warehouse, scattering old leaves and invigorating their fire.
“I didn’t see hide nor hair of the warg,” Leif reported as he plopped cross-legged between Lark and Milena to eat his dinner. “Man, Milena, did you see that thing earlier today?” He shivered and bit off a hunk of jerky from the stick in his hand.
“A glimpse,” she answered. “That was enough.”
“I saw it—got a good look too—and we need to steer clear,” Lark advised. “Thank all the Universe’s benevolent spirits it was a loner and not a pack trailing us, or we wouldn’t be eating dinner now—we’d be the dinner.”
“That’s the truth!” Leif half-laughed.
Lark, who enjoyed reading fantasy books her parents had kept and lugged around with them from place to place, knew that “warg” was the name of a fictional creature, not a real one.
However, it was easy to understand why people had immediately labeled the mutant canines warg.
For starters, they were enormous—sabertooth tiger big.
Then came their unnatural aggression. Wolves rarely attack humans and only kill to eat.
These monstrosities seemed to kill for the hell of it.
Fast and lethal, they were blotched with mange-like bald spots.
Unlike the two-legged albino mutants, the warg were coal black, hair and skin, blending into opaque shadows like hidden monsters, all but their eerie glowing eyes.
If humanoid mutants had nightmares, the warg must be the creatures that fill them.
While a pack had never attacked Saltmarsh Reach outright, people living on the outskirts came into town with horror stories of the beasts destroying their herds of cattle or goats or devouring their hogs.
Her father, before joining the army, had joined a hunting party to rid the area of a murderous pack, and they’d brought back a dead one for all to see.
Lark would never forget the size of its teeth and jaws, its giant paws with their curved claws, or the awful stench like a rotting corpse that clung to its fresh body.
“We should take turns staying awake to keep watch,” Lark suggested. “We can’t have it killing our horses—or worse.”
“Agreed,” Leif replied. Then his eyes brightened. “I can’t wait to see Nelanta tomorrow. Once I went with Dad to New Charleston, but I’ve never seen a big city. I’ll bet there’ll be entertainment houses, markets, sports arenas, and all kinds of sights. Plus, all the interesting new people.”
“Don’t get too eager,” Lark warned. “This isn’t a vacation. We’re getting the medicine for Tommy and then heading straight back. Now that we know the way, you and your friends can take a pleasure trip later.”
“Surely we can stay for one day,” Leif proposed.
“Lark’s right. Tommy might not have an extra day.” Milena’s voice was strained, her expression determined. “How can you even think about anything else? He’s your friend too.”
“Of course, getting the medicine is our top priority,” Leif answered, realizing how his enthusiasm at seeing a new place had come across. “I didn’t mean we were coming to have a good time. It’s just that—”
“We know, Leif,” Lark supplied. “Seeing a new place is exciting. Nothing interesting happens at the Reach—at least not that’s good. But this trip is for Tommy. As soon as we have that medicine, we’re mounting these horses and heading back. I just hope …”
“Queen Frost won’t refuse us,” Milena declared.
“It’s the government’s policy to share medical supplies with all Verdancia’s provinces, and it’s Saltmarsh Reach’s turn.
Besides, I’ve heard nothing but positive stories about the queen—how she’s kept us safe from invasions.
We have a new school opening in the fall because of her efforts to improve education.
And we’re on an infrastructure list to have water and sewer pipes installed. ”
“Sure, she’s a brightwire,” Leif allowed, then wiggled his brows, a grin sneaking across his face. “But folks say she’s a stunner—the most beautiful woman in the kingdom.”
Lark smirked at her brother and washed down her dry cornbread with a swig from her canteen. “I wouldn’t care if she were a hideous old crone, as long as she gives us the antibiotics.”
Is that how she lured Dad into joining the army?
Lark wondered. Did recruitment posters feature pictures of this god-gorgeous queen to sucker men into enlisting?
He’d said it was his duty to protect his family, friends, and country, so we could all keep our freedoms. Teenaged Lark hadn’t understood what that meant.
In the Reach, people had always been free to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, as long as it didn’t hurt anybody else.
Did those Iron Waste hordes truly threaten their way of life? Honestly, Lark didn’t know.
“You say that now,” Leif teased. “I can’t wait to see you drool the first time you lay eyes on her.” He giggled, covering his face with his arms, when Lark threw a stick from the pile at him.
“You’re such a glitching sack of buzzard bait.” Lark stretched to her feet, brushing crumbs from her hands. “I’ll take the first watch. You two try to get some sleep.”
“I’ll go second,” Milena volunteered. “Probably can’t sleep anyway.”
“Wake me up when you’re ready to switch,” Leif said. “And, Milena, I’m sorry. We can all make a trip to Nelanta when Tommy’s well. Then we’ll see the sights.” She nodded at him with a forgiving smile.
When Lark had checked on the horses, scouted the perimeter, and relieved herself, she returned to find Milena and Leif asleep on their bedrolls near the fire. The rain tapped on the ancient tin roof—gentler than expected, a cool breath that promised relief by morning.
Lark sat near Milena, her senses alert to danger while she watched her friend sleep. Milena clutched Tommy’s cap, pain rippling across her face. Once or twice, she jolted, calling out Tommy’s name, without fully awakening.
Ever since they were children, Milena, Tommy, and Lark had been the “Three Musketeers,” one seldom seen without the others.
They’d worked, played, learned, side by side as they grew, sharing everything.
A memory overtook Lark—the night as young teenagers when they’d played spin the bottle.
Enviably, it landed on all of them, and they hadn’t shied away from sharing kisses.
When her spin landed on Milena, her friend had giggled shyly, but the kiss ignited something in Lark she’d never shaken.
All three had taken turns venturing outside their trio for romantic encounters while their friendship remained solid.
Only now, Milena and Tommy had been talking about marriage.
Whenever Gramma brought up the subject, Lark changed it.
She couldn’t fathom sharing her life with anyone else.
Despite the queen’s decree that whatever consenting adults choose for themselves wasn’t anyone else’s concern, her neighbors wouldn’t understand a three-way marriage, and it pained Lark to realize it wasn’t what Tommy and Milena wanted either.
The fresh scent of the shower, mingled with the campfire’s smoke, filled Lark’s senses, the sky outside completely black. “Tommy, no!” Milena cried out, her eyes squeezed shut, his cap crushed between her fingers. Lark pulled up the cover and stroked her shoulder with a soft shushing sound.
“It’s OK, sweetie, just a bad dream. It’s going to be all right.”
In that moment, Lark knew how much she loved Milena—enough to fight to save Tommy, enough to let her go.
They loved each other, just not in the same ways.
Watching Milena’s restless slumber, Lark suddenly felt older.
The thrill of youthful games seemed light-years behind as she sensed the responsibility for all their futures shift to her.
Imagining Milena’s grief if they were unsuccessful, or too late getting back, was too much for her to bear.
She stared into the night, rain hushing the world around her, heart steady with a single truth: she’d get that medicine, no matter what it cost.