On the third day, though, they found themselves suddenly not alone on the path. As they rounded the bend of a hill, the highest they’d climbed yet, a group of four men appeared as if from nowhere and fell in with them, two walking behind and two before. They wore fashions familiar to the area and looked not unlike the farmer who had given them a ride out of Averieom.
“Greetings, fellow travelers,” the one who seemed to be their leader said as the men descended from the hill onto the path. “Mind if we walk with you?”
“Of course not.” As usual, Nyasha was in front, and she grinned at the fellow without a thought. Bron was instantly wary, but he resisted the urge to put his hand on his knife. Where had they come from?
“We’re just simple hillfolk, traveling from our cottages to our herds of goats in the mountains,” the leader said to Nyasha, glib as could be.
“Really? I never heard of anyone living out here before.” Nyasha’s voice was curious and interested, without a hint of suspicion. Which was good in a way–Bron could let her talk, and perhaps the men wouldn’t notice that he was ready to fight back if they started something. The girl would lull them into false security.
And maybe they were telling the truth. Maybe.
Still, Bron stepped closer to Calea and touched her elbow in warning. She glanced at him and seemed to understand, nodding once, then turning her attention back to the path. Bron walked close to her, and the strangers near them were wise enough to keep their distance.
“And where’re you from?” the leader asked Nyasha.
“Avereiom,” Nyasha said, in the same easy tone. Oh, no, thought Bron. Don’t say… “From the Medical Sanctuary, you know, all the doctors and nurses? I used to work there.”
Bron felt the tension in the men around him ratchet further upward, and his gaze darted back and forth, though he kept his face pointed forward, trying to keep track of them all. Even those quick glances caught the edges of weapons poorly hidden under jackets and shirts, walking staves that would serve very well as clubs….
“Oh, yes?” The leader tried to keep his casual tone, but it was obviously a strain. “You have any drugs, medicine? That stuff is valuable now, you know, with the world all higgledy and no knowing when new supplies will come.”
This was blatant enough that even Nyasha noticed, and she went quiet, glancing nervously back at Bron as if for instructions. He frowned at her, unsure of what to do. Years of experience in the roughest neighborhoods of the roughest Section of Jalseion told him a fight was brewing, but he’d never learned how to dispel the clouds as they gathered.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Calea said, exasperated. Bron wondered suddenly, desperately, how both of the females he’d associated himself with could manage to be so smart in some ways and so stupid in others. He nudged Calea’s elbow again, but she didn’t seem to understand.
“We have nothing to trade with you and no need to do so even if we had the goods you seek,” Calea went on, imperious and firm as she had always been. But oh, this was so very much the wrong time to pull out her commanding voice again. “We’re in quite a hurry, so really, you should just get back to your goats.”
Here it all ground to a halt. The conversation, the chance of escape, and the men surrounding them. Calea pulled up short, surprised, as one grubby little man turned to her and leaned far too near her face.
“I’ve heard that tone before. Those words.” He grinned, and his teeth were broken and yellow. Calea recoiled into Bron, who tried to keep her upright without entangling his hands. He would need them soon enough. “You’re from Jalseion. You think you’re better than us.”
“I don’t… I didn’t say…”
Bron had never heard Calea sputter before. Behind the man, Bron caught a glimpse of Nyasha’s big brown eyes, wide and terrified.
“You’re Select, aren’t you?” The man’s smile became something ugly and stunted, sick and mean.
Then the weapons came out.
Don't miss a single word of stories as they are published! You'll also receive first notice of special sales and behind-the-scenes information.