Chapter 14 Tiana
The cart hit a bumpy patch and slammed me against its unforgiving side. I was groggy and my head hurt, but I was alive.
I remembered waking a couple of times as the cart stopped.
The sudden change jarred my senses. Each time, one of the men would open the heavy cover to the cart’s bed and check the ropes binding my wrists and feet, then hand me a vial filled with silver liquid.
The acrid taste clung to my tongue, thick and unyielding.
If I refused the drink, he would simply stand there until I relented.
Something in his bearing told me he didn’t care how long he had to stand there, only that I downed the liquid.
The man who tended me was more frightening than the potion he forced me to drink.
Like those who’d pursued me before, he wore a carved mask and brown robe.
His fa?ade was that of an angry bull with horns on each temple and a long beak that curved downward, ending in a sharp point.
Murky, black eyes peered through holes in the mask.
Some hours later, perhaps a day or more, I woke again. It was impossible to keep track of time when nearly every moment was spent drugged and asleep.
The air was cooler, almost crisp, and carried the sticky-sweet smell of pine.
The road beneath the cart’s wheels had grown rougher, and my muscles ached from all the tossing I’d endured.
I could barely see daylight through the tiny cracks between the planks, but sounds of movement from other people and horses came through clearly.
My throat was sore, and I felt weak, but adrenaline was a magical force of its own, and the possibility of freedom shocked me into alertness.
The cart came to a crawl, then stopped. It crawled again, then stopped again.
A voice with almost bored authority spoke. “Hold. Where are you headed, and what’s your business crossing the border?”
The low rasp that answered sent a chill up my arms. “We are Children returning home.”
“Children?”
“Yes. We are her Children.”
Silence lingered before the first man asked, “What’s in the cart?”
I found my voice in that moment and began screaming through the wood. “Help me! I’m in the cart. Please help me!” I yelled again and again, as loudly as my scratchy throat would allow. When no one responded, I tried to kick my rope-bound legs against the sides.
Still nothing.
The cart top popped open.
Fresh air flowed across my face.
The night sky peeked through a canopy of tall, thick trees.
A moment later, a handsome face I’d never seen before appeared overhead. The man’s jaw was firm and chiseled, and his light, sand-colored hair curled in every direction; but it was the man’s eyes that drew my gaze. They were a brilliant, penetrating green that seemed to bore through me.
“I’m right here. You’re looking right at me. HELP ME, PLEASE!” My voice cracked with the force of my scream.
The man scanned the inside of the cart, then rapped the wooden floor next to me with his knuckles. As I continued to scream, he held up a hand as if to signal his companion and his mouth formed a word I couldn’t hear over my own voice.
Then he leaned down, as if to listen closer, bracing himself with a hand on the side of the cart. I quieted as my hopes rose, but then he pulled back.
I panicked. “Save me. Please. Save me. I’m right here in front of you! Don’t go! PLEASE!”
The man didn’t seem to hear, as he nodded to someone I couldn’t see.
Then I heard, “Going home empty-handed, it seems. That is not always a bad thing. Be careful in the mountains. We have had several traders go up and not return recently. Safe travels.”
To my dismay, the cart moved forward. Dejected and confused, I lost track of how much time passed before the cart stilled again and Bull-bird returned.
He extended another vial and spoke, “Illusion is my Gift. They see what I want them to see. They hear what I tell them to hear. Scream if you wish, but know you will not be heard.”
As the cart lurched forward, starting its ascent through the mountain pass, a trickle of tears fell down my cheeks.
As with most storms, the light fall was followed by a torrent that caused my angry stomach to clench.
Welcome drowsiness overtook fear and pain, and I fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.