Fellow Travelers
Episode 13 - The World Stone
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Daymel helps Tasol and Myra escape capture by the Jackrabbits, thereby sealing his own fate. We see a bit more about the magic of their mother’s rings.
“We?” Tasol asked, looking at Daymel.
“I can’t stay here now,” Daymel answered, turning back to Tasol. “Not after doing this. Streel was right about one thing, they’ll track it to me, and soon this place’ll be crawling with Jackrabbits. This was just a small detachment of his crew, and when they don’t return, they’ll come looking for them. We need to go — now. We can argue about my presence later.”
“I didn’t intend to argue,” Tasol objected. “I was just surprised that you’d want to help us or come with us. You don’t even know where we’re going or why.” Daymel glanced toward Myra who kneeled, wiping her blades on one of the dead men’s jacket, stripping him of his water-skin as Daymel suggested and quickly rummaged through his pockets. She stood looking down the creek toward the fallen archer scanning, ever vigilant. Of course, Tasol thought, he was being chivalrous, looking to protect Myra.
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve made my choice.” Daymel said calmly. “All that matters now is that we get to the slide and hide, ready to move up the cliffside at dark. If they find us here, in the open, we’re as good as dead.”
“Right,” Tasol said, nodding. He knew Daymel was right, but found it curious he still trusted him after all these years.
Within moments, they’d pushed down the creek picking up the archer’s water-skin, Myra confiscating his bow. She paused, weighing the bow in her hands, testing the bowstring. She’d been a good mark in her earlier years, and the bow looked natural in her hands as she slung in over her shoulder alongside the quiver she’d also heisted from the fallen archer. In the distance down the creek they saw the slide, its flat grey rock breaking the sheer cliff as the trail cut into it could easily be seen. Daymel was right, with the Jackrabbits looking for them, they couldn’t risk climbing in the daylight without being seen. As they rounded a bend in the creek, Daymel led them out of the creek bed into the deep brush less than a hundred yards from the base of the slide. They huddled together, concealed in the brush, listening for the sounds of their pursuers. From somewhere behind them, a dull sound reverberated through the air. It was so intense he could literally feel it through his skin.
“What is that?” Myra asked, looking around for the source of the noise.
“It’s their alert call–the Jackrabbits,” Daymel answered. “They’ve found the bodies. Soon this place will be crawling.” Daymel looked up to the sky, the darkness finally descending, further hiding them, and some luck falling their way, it was a moonless night, as dark as one could ask for.
“We wait until they set camp and settle for the night, then go,” Tasol suggested.
“They’ll break the search off at dark, but they’ll have tracker hounds here in the morning for certain,” Daymel whispered. “They’re not going to let one of their own do what I just did.”
Tasol could only see the shape of Daymel’s face in the darkness, nothing more. They sat in silence, taking turns to catch some rest, waiting for the thieves’ camp to settle.
Daymel leaned into Tasol as Myra slept. “I’ll go take a peek. Make sure it’s all clear.” He peeled off his bow, water-skin, and anything that would catch or make noise.
As he was about to leave, Tasol caught his shoulder. “Remember, just like when we were kids, skimming the vendors. Not a sound.” Tasol felt Daymel’s hand on his shoulder, and then Daymel was off without a sound.
Tasol looked out into the darkness, waiting, as he settled in next to his sister. He thought of waking her, talking to her about what Daymel had said of the arrow that deflected off him. He was convinced it had to be the ring, and he hadn’t yet had the chance to tell her of how she shimmered with the glow of the magic from her ring. Not only that, but he was uncertain what it all meant, bubbling inside with curiosity. He still wondered in what version of reality his mother had been a sorceress, something his father had openly scoffed. It seemed like hours before Daymel returned, but once he slipped back into the bramble, he laid a few water-skins on the ground.
“Some more water,” he said with a snicker. “They’re sleeping. We should go now.”
They woke Myra from her sleep and within minutes they were ready to move out. Daymel stepped forward to lead them from the brush, and Tasol placed an arm across his path.
“I will lead from here,” Tasol said with a tone that made it clear it wasn’t open to discussion.
Daymel relented, falling in line behind Myra, taking up the rear, whispering. “The easiest way up is from the far side. There’s a path worn in. Just stay low, walk soft, and all will be ok.”
Tasol nodded, and slowly picked his way from thicket to thicket as they methodically worked their way across the face of the slide to the far side, stopping to take a short break and regroup. He peered up the creek toward the encampment, but in the darkness it was challenging to see anything other than dim campfires. Taking a deep breath, he guided them forward toward the path cut into the cliffside.
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