chapterfour
Gifts from Mother
Ayla followed the wagon ruts south until high sun, as instructed. Hillside Plantation bordered the Empire to the south and no one used the road anymore. She walked as fast as she could until the adjacent forest swallowed the forgotten trade route whole. The dogs would be on her trail soon, if not already.
She trekked through the woods as day gave way to night. Ayla paid no mind to the burrs in her calloused feet or the howls of the coyotes that welcomed the gibbous moon. She thought of Deetra, and what they would do to her when they discovered Goreskin’s body. The idea of it chilled her bones, despite the heat and humidity. Ayla would go back for her one day, if for no other reason than to learn what happened to her. Deetra never cried, and so in her honor, Ayla refused to cry for her lost friend.
She stopped at the edge of a wide clearing. Tiny curious eyes in the brush reflected the moonlight and the familiarity of it struck a chord of memory from the night before. On the other side of the clearing, a brook wound out of the woods, gurgling happily past the bottom of a long, steep embankment. Halfway across the moonlit clearing, she stepped over a broken, moss-covered wall, the foundation of some long forgotten building. This is where her mother had carried her, to this place. Holding her hands under her chin, she closed her eyes.
“Mother, Goddess of the Night. Your daughter is in need, and begs humbly, to remember.”
The dream returned to her; her mother in the street, the blood, the symbol on the door, the temple, her back on the cold stone, the Goddess, and what she told her.
The temple can provide… Wash yourself in the brook, and then take what you need.
Ayla opened her eyes. “Thank you, Mother.”
She slid down the embankment to the water and found a wide, flat boulder. It stretched out over a deep pool with a small, trickling waterfall. She took off the torn dress and jumped in. The water came up above her head, but Ayla had learned to swim in the duck pond back at the plantation. She rolled onto her back, letting the cool water soothe the sting of Goreskin’s whip. Her mind drifted to the fate of Deetra. When the masters found Goreskin face down in his own blood, Deetra would take the blame, and they would kill her. Ayla hoped her mother and Deetra would find each other in the Goddess’ Abyss.
Ayla ran a hand over her belly. She would join them soon enough.
She stared up at the moon and listened to the chorus of frogs and crickets. North, the Goddess had instructed her; into the mouth of her enemy, Hornstall Keep. She had no idea what she would do there, or how to find free humans who might help her, but she had crushed Goreskin under her heel, just as her new Mother promised.
Her life should have ended the night before, but The Goddess saved her. She no longer lived only for herself. If she died at Hornstall, she would go to her grave knowing her birth Mother’s murderer died at her feet, and she had repaid her debt to the Goddess. That was enough for one lifetime.
Ayla turned over in the water. She rinsed the blood from her hair and body, then made her way to the shore. She held the dress up and examined the blood stains. It symbolized every memory she wanted to forget; Goreskin, his whip, leaving Deetra behind to die. She pulled it over her head and made her way back up the embankment to the clearing. All the while, she wondered why the Goddess would have her bathe first, then dig in the dirt for the chest of offerings.
Her mouth fell open. Just over the dilapidated wall sat a large chest of dark wood with its lid open. The rubies and sapphires that decorated the metal bands around it glittered in the moonlight. Over the opening lay a long navy tunic, a pair of black boots, and a slender chain necklace with a steel hoop medallion.
She picked up the hoop-shaped medallion first. It had no flat edges, like a polished steel loop of rope. At the top of the loop were two tiny gems set into the metal. She ran her thumb over them. Eyes. Set into the head of a winged serpent eating its own tail, they scratched her thumb like broken glass.
It contains symbols of faith …
Ayla laid it back down. The shadow of birds in the moonlight crossed the clearing. She looked up as she took off her dress. Some of the crows passing overhead landed in the trees overlooking the ruin. She dropped the heavy blood-soaked garment to the ground with a sigh of relief.
Ayla smoothed the hair on the back of her head. She hadn't realized it was so short but had to admit she didn't miss its weight. She picked up the ancient tunic from the chest. Though it must have remained folded for hundreds of years, when she let it come undone, no creases marked the fabric. As she pulled it over her head, one of the crows in the trees behind her cawed. She dropped the hem down over her damp rear. Ayla folded her arms over her chest. Goreskin had ripped her undergarments. Even standing in the woods alone, she was uncomfortable without them in such thin clothing.
She pulled on the boots. As she tied the second one, the crows exploded from the trees in a rush of wings, caws, and trembling branches. Ayla froze and strained her ears in the night. The brook babbled, but the frogs no longer called to one another by the water, or in the trees. Dogs barked in the stagnant air, calling from the wooded hills behind her.
Her heart leapt to her throat. She had known the moment would come, but after the sunset started to hope it wouldn't. Ayla ran to the embankment over the brook. The yapping and barking of the hounds became more distinct. They were close - too close to run.
Ayla bowed her head and whispered the prayer.
“Mother, Goddess of the Night, your daughter is in need, and begs humbly, for -”
A low growl rumbled a few feet in front of her.
Caught. But how? The hunting dogs still barked from the distance.
Ayla opened her eyes. A brindled coyote bared its teeth at her, its slender head low, front paws splayed. She held her breath. Every twitch made the animal snarl at her.
It leapt. Ayla jumped away with a startled cry. The coyote snatched up her bloody dress and shook it in its jaws, then dashed down the embankment with his prize. Water splashed below, and brush rattled on the other side of the brook as it ran off. She let out a shaky breath and checked the chest. Pushing the folded tunics aside, she found an empty satchel. She took it and the handful of hardtack bread from the steel bowl beneath it.
One of the hunting hounds howled a message to its masters just beyond the edge of the clearing. She was out of time. Ayla found a small water skin and stuffed it in the satchel. She threw the strap over her shoulder and stumbled down the steep embankment.
Branches snapped, and dogs galloped over brush above and behind her. She stumbled and splashed into the water on all fours. A minotaur voice called out from the hill above. They were next to the temple.
“We’re close!”
Ayla laid down flat and submerged herself in the water. She lifted her chin and tucked the satchel under it to keep her face out of the water. Dogs barked and yipped just over the top of the ravine, then raced down the hill, a few yards behind Ayla in the pitch black. They cut across the brook, half a dozen of them in raucous pursuit.
“Down this way!”
Ayla held her breath, heart pumping so hard she was sure they could hear it. But the dogs kept running east - following the dress. Ayla remained in the brook, too terrified to move.
When she deemed it safe, she got up and picked her way alongside the bank. She kept to the flat, wet stones, trying not to touch the brush in case the dogs doubled back. The water reflected the stars between the overhanging trees. Ayla walked until the brook tapered to a small stream. She stopped to fill her water skin in the last trickling section with a prayer of thanks. She tied off the skin and turned to circle back north to Hornstall.