77. Now Rain
NOW: RAIN
The closer the pilgrimage got to Skow, the more the entire caravan became restless.
The cattle gave mournful lowing throughout the day, which we could hear at our place in the four hundreds’ rows of wagons.
The horses, both for pilgrims and Perpatanians, were easily spooked and jerked at their harnesses more often.
In the evenings, campgrounds were set up with less care, the sounds of clattering dishes and complaints going up around us as the sun set.
In the mornings, when I woke for a second time, under the wagon, next to my family, the neighboring wagons were packed back up with a new frenzy, a nervousness that had not been there previously.
The infantry and cavalry responded in kind, cavalrymen riding by with more frequency, infantrymen stalking up and down the rows of penitent camps, a relentlessness in their observation. Several times, Gerard and Bertram made appearances riding near our wagon.
“Folk are antsy knowing that this journey has no return,” Tessa explained, her hands out to receive the tin cup of stew with foraged mushrooms and carrots flavored with scallions.
We had made camp and were having our last meal of the day amid a hubbub of anxious travelers around us.
“I keep hearing about that tower,” Jade said, ladling out Ilsit’s portion. “How it’s so big you can fit two whole wagons inside the doors.”
“That’s where they’ll have us stable the livestock,” Tessa added. “They’ve the capacity for stables on the first floor. I hear the first level of the tower is nearly the size of a small town. It’s a marvel of masonry, that thing. All smooth rock the first floor. And ancient as the world, they say.”
But rain delayed us. The risk of hundreds of wagons stuck in mud was too great, and our progress was halted.
We were stuck on the same place along the road for two days.
This did nothing but heighten the unrest that had spread amongst the penitents.
Miserable, we spent the days huddled under the tarpaulin of the wagon, trying to soothe the goats and chickens.
Our poor horses had to bear the brunt of the downpour.
I was worried about them, particularly Zara, as it was getting colder by the day.
Tessa pointed out that the chill would likely prevent the poor things from getting rain rot scabs on their coats, something that only seemed to happen in wet summers to animals who had no shelter.
I kept stepping outside to stand near Zara and pet her dripping neck, cooing in her ear.
“I am so sorry, it has come to this. I wish you’d had a different life than this one, my girl.
I wish you’d stayed in Tintar or on Sibbereen and been some lovely, carefree woman’s mount.
I wish you didn’t have to be the one thing that has loved me back the longest.” And then, by the cover of the weather, I wept into her neck.
I had no idea of what our next days and weeks would look like.
I did not know if I could protect my family, if I could keep us all safe and together.
I only knew that we entered the enemy’s territory and that my niece had called for aid.
“What’s wrong?” came a half shout near me.
I looked up to see Reed standing next to me holding up a large piece of tanned, treated tarpaulin over his head. His hood was drawn up, but there was rain dripping from the end of his nose. He jerked his head, beckoning me to come stand under it.
I did so, wiping my nose with my fingers. “I just can’t stand her being alone out here, tied at the back, soaked,” I explained, my face a hand’s span from his own. “She seems fine, but she’s old. I almost wonder if she’s too weak to show how scared she must be.”
He took a step forward, causing me to step back until I was up against Zara’s neck. Then he lifted the tarp even higher and held it to also cover her big head. “I understand,” he said, looking down at me. “I just came from comforting my own mare.”
“Your arms will get tired,” I said.
“Why do you cry?” was his reply.
I shook my head. “I just told you. I worry for my poor horse.”
“Tell me all of it.” Reed’s eye was sharp, searching my face.
I decided I may as well confess. “Well, if you must know, I am terrified. I’ve spent so long as the hunted deer, I’ve never done anything with my life. Just run. And now I’m in a new place, running again. And perhaps I am now worried about how to be the hunter.”
I thought of Tessa’s words to me weeks ago. All of your life, you have been reacting instead of acting. And that’s no fault of yours.
“What we are about to do is not meant for hunted deer. It is work meant for the hunter. What we are about to do requires action,” I continued, speaking slowly, worrying my teeth would start to chatter. “I have only ever reacted. I have never acted. How is a running deer supposed to rescue anyone?”
Reed swallowed and closed his eye. Then he opened it and looked back at me.
“You have more hunter in you than you know. Allow me to say that it is the fault of this world and not your own that you are so accustomed to reaction and not action. If anyone had the choice, they would certainly choose to be the hunter, wouldn’t they? ”
I shook my head. “I would still want to be the deer. I just want to be free.”
He did not respond, only stood there watching me, arms held up high, until a driver of Thane’s called his name and he had to leave us. Before he did, he gave me his tarp.