Chapter I
Circles
Like a long skinny insect with many legs the caravan
creeps over flat, dun-coloured land. A bowl of clear blue encloses us above.
We’re only about half a day out of Aquila, City of Eagles, skirting the edge of
the desert. The road is packed sand and stones, a decent surface for riding and
for the oxen and wagons, but there’s nothing much to look at – scattered ragged
bushes and spiny plants. Dust rises and tickles my nose. Sweat gathers under my
cotton tunic, and the leather of my riding breeches chaffes my legs. For the
last year or so I’ve mostly been wearing skirts and loose robes. I fumble for
my water skin, squeeze out a couple of mouthfuls.
By the prickling at the back of my neck I know his eyes
are on me. When I glance in his direction I catch his head turning away. He’s
been watching me for a while.
I saw him for the first time as Father and I made our way
to the caravan meeting place just before dawn. My fourteen-year old brother
Samel had refused to stir from his bed, so just the two of us walked yawning
through the quiet gradually brightening streets. A few people hurried to early
work or to other urgent business. Ahead of us a dark-haired man wearing a black
sleeveless tunic with red thead embroidery, along with a sword and quiver of
arrows, strode rapidly along.
A young boy pulling
at an obstinate donkey blocked most of the narrow street ahead. With two large
baskets hitched over its back the donkey was at least three times the size of
the youngster. The boy hauled at the halter rope and yelled, but the beast just
leaned in the other direction.
“Rowan,” Father said, “Let’s give him a hand.”
But before we could take another step the man reached the
child. “Out of my way,”he yelled. “I’m in a hurry.” And then he shoved the boy
knocking him down, and marched on without a backward look.
The boy hit the cobblestones and lay there, though he
didn’t let go the rope. The donkey pulled harder dragging the child over the
bumpy ground. Father reached the spot in an instant. Laying down my saddlebags,
Father righted the boy with one hand and with the other he grabbed the donkey’s
rope.
“Are you all right?”
I asked. Blood oozed from scrapes on the boy’s arms and legs. “I have
bandages.”
“Thanks,” the boy said. “Don’t need more help.” His eyes
flicked here and there as if he expected someone to arrive and scold him.
Father and I watched him for a few moments. For some
reason now the donkey decided to obey and ambled peacefully along beside the
boy, who limped. I wanted to do more to help, but Father shrugged and picked up
the saddlebags. We had little time to spare.
When we reached the caravan just outside the city gates,
Father helped me get my saddlebags onto my horse and made sure everything was
ship shape. Ursallia, the caravan leader, nodded her approval, then moved off
to check a wagon.
“Well,” Father said, “I guess it’s time.”
“Thank you,” I said, “for everything. I mean for buying
the horse and the supplies and . . .”
“Rowan,” he interrupted taking a step toward me, “you’re
my daughter and . . .” He paused, grasped me by the shoulders. “You’re coming
back aren’t you?”
I stood rigidly, attempted a brief laugh. It didn’t sound
convincing. “What else would I do?”
“Well,” he said again, then added in a rush, “We want you
back.” He gave me a brief hug. “Take care of yourself.” Then he was gone.
Stupid me. Why
couldn’t I have said the right words? My eyes started to itch. I bent to adjust
my saddle. A loud voice made me turn.
“Stay away from my horse.” The man in the black tunic was
young, not much older than me I thought. He confronted a burly man who stood
beside two oxen hitched to a wagon.
“Keep farther away from my team, then,” the burly man
growled.
“No quarrels,” Ursallia said in a flat voice. “We’re
moving out.”
The book is available on Amazon and Kindle as well as from the author https://www.facebook.com/RegineHaenselwriter/
