CEDAR WATCHES FROM the porch as Slate inspects Colt’s wound. Finch stands nearby, his rifle slung over his shoulder.
When Slate is finished, he sends Colt into the cabin. He lumbers up the stairs. Cedar stands taller, trying to ignore her sweaty palms and the tremble in her legs. He looks straight ahead while passing by. The cabin door closes behind him.
The four talk together as comrades, though Garnet and Leaf eye Finch’s gun with a mix of fear and awe. Slate gives the order for them to bury Jasper’s body.
“Not here,” Cedar says, with a firmness that sounds foreign to her ears.
Slate nods with the understanding of a protective father. “Take him in the canoe several miles south, and find a place in the forest. Mark the grave. His family will want to know where he has been buried.”
Garnet and Leaf set off to collect what they will need for the task. Slate and Finch exchange a look, and Finch nods in wordless communication. With the weapon slung over his shoulder, he follows the two men.
Slate climbs the steps to join her.
“How is Ash?” Cedar says.
“Well enough. He would have come himself if he did not believe his presence would increase your danger.”
Ash will be king someday. There will never again be a time when his presence in her life will not endanger her. She had been clear about her desire to keep to the shadows. She is safer without him, but all she feels is loss.
She has known the joy, and now she must meet the sorrow. Her life stretches before her as a blank canvas, and all the colours on her palette are dreary.
“What now?” she says.
“Finch and I disobeyed direct orders. Jasper has a powerful family with connections. We will keep up the pretense that we were sent to retrieve you all until we manage to slip away. The river divides several miles south of here. Finch, you, and I will take the east passage. There is a place in Eastern Danbarrah where you can lie low for a time.”
“I know a drink that will help Colt, Garnet, and Leaf sleep deeply. The plants grow in this forest,” Cedar says.
Slate looks relieved. “Take care of that, while the others are away. I will guard Colt and make preparations.”
“Ash’s brother, is he…dead?”
“Yes.”
Cedar bows her head, collecting her thoughts. She knows Ash cared for his brother, regardless of her misgivings.
What will happen to her northern village now that James is not at the helm? What will happen to her country, now that Ash is in line for the throne?
“Ash will have no way of knowing you are safe,” Slate says.
“I don’t suppose I will ever be as safe as I once was,” Cedar says.
“You have friends that will make sure that is not the case.”
Cedar sees that he means it. She realizes the peril he must have put himself in on her account. “What will happen to you and Finch?”
“We have our ways of disappearing.”
Cedar’s eyes brim with tears. “You sacrificed yourselves, for me.”
Slate looks at her, and his resolute gaze holds hers. “I would have become my own greatest enemy if I had done nothing. I may spend my nights listening for the enemy, but I will not have to lie with him.” He shakes his head. “We sacrificed something, but not ourselves.”
~ . ~ . ~
ASH’S WRISTS ARE bleeding and sore from the handcuffs. He does not ask Philip to remove them. The man betrays no emotion, but Ash suspects that he is trying to make life unpleasant for him.
Ash had been lucky – on the first day of Slate and Finch’s disappearance, heavy clouds had interfered with Philip’s ability to use his old, outdated satellite phone. There is no budget for up-to-date gear, and the tech the army has works sporadically at best.
By the second day, Ash’s luck had dissipated and Philip had ordered a manhunt for Slate and Finch.
Philip invites Ash to share each evening meal with him. Ash suspects that Philip is amused by his attempts to eat in cuffs.
The evening Garnet and Leaf return with Colt, they are escorted into Philip’s tent by the man on guard duty.
Philip looks up from his plate. “Colt. You are under arrest and will face a charge of desertion.”
Ash makes a careful perusal of the group. Colt’s face is ashen, and he looks unsteady. Ash remains silent, wanting to learn what he can, but it takes an effort to keep from questioning the man with his fists.
After a thorough look at Colt, Philip says, “You look like hell. I want a full report then you may see Major Bradberry for treatment.”
Colt avoids eye contact with his commanding officer.
“The truth,” Philip orders.
“The girl, she stabbed me. Jasper’s dead, shot by that new kid. Slate and him took the girl and ran.”
“Was she harmed in any way?” Ash says.
Colt jumps back, bumping into Leaf behind him.
Philip ignores them and looks at Garnet, who nods, affirming Colt’s story.
“I am sorry for the loss of your partner. You can be assured that the proper channels of the law will be utilized for justice,” Philip says.
“Justice for our citizens is of equal importance. Was the woman harmed?” Ash repeats.
Ash sits on the ground, handcuffed at that, but Colt looks ready to bolt as he answers. “N-no. I saw her for only a few moments.”
“And Jasper?” Ash says.
Colt clears his throat, and his pale face takes on a more sickly colour. “I-I‘m not sure.”
Ash rises from the ground, not caring when his plate falls from his lap and the food spills. In one long stride, he is toe to toe with Colt. He raises his cuffed hands to encircle the man’s thick neck.
“I will not tolerate this behavior in my tent,” Philip says.
Ash ignores him, tightening his hold on Colt’s neck. When he releases his grasp, Colt lets loose a torrent of words.
“I swear I don’t know what he did to her. But the boy, Finch, he shot him not long after, outside the cabin.”
“Garnet, will you escort our Prince back to his quarters?” Philip says.
Garnet takes a step forward. It is only then that Ash notices the cello he holds. When he looks back at Garnet’s face, the man’s expression is practically gleeful.
Ash strides out of the tent. The painful certainty of knowing to what extent he has dragged Cedar into danger makes peace more elusive than ever.
~ . ~ . ~
CEDAR’S BODY ACHES from long days in a canoe. Her face is covered with blisters from old insect bites and fresh raised red spots from new ones. The landscape, which at the start of their journey was miles of trees packed tightly against the shoreline and at times barren rocky hills, has changed to gentle rolling hills. They see the occasional farmer, tilling the land with either new or old machinery. Where a tractor is spied, a large, well-kept house often appears high on the river’s bank. When a mule and plow are seen, it is a dilapidated house a fifth of the size.
This river broke away from the main river road miles back, taking them away from the densely populated route to Sapphire City. It continually winds in a southeasterly direction, where it eventually spills into the ocean on the eastern shore of Danbarrah.
Eastern Danbarrah’s poverty becomes more evident the farther east they go. The houses are in poor repair, and the boats that are tied to rotting docks are worn and waterlogged. Cedar, who had been taken aback by the relative grandeur of earlier houses, feels more at home near this eastern shore.
The glimpse of a road stands out in a brilliant red hue as it winds up a distant hill.
“The road was built centuries ago,” Slate says, seeing the direction of her gaze as she paddles from the bow. Slate takes his turn for a rest in the center of the boat. He leans against their baggage.
Finch is in the stern, his competency with a paddle and knowledge of this river as apparent as his skill with a gun.
“Where does it lead?” Cedar says, trying to remember the maps and histories she has read of Danbarrah. She knows less about her own country than she had thought.
“The southern port at the City of the Palace of Rubies,” Slate says.
“I thought people in Danbarrah, even in the south, travel by waterway.”
“They do. The road is not kept up, and would not be kind to any traveler.” Slate adjusts his position against the baggage. He looks up at the sky, whose usually brilliant blue is grey today. They have covered many miles since before twilight that morning, moving with wind in their favour.
Slate coughs and clears his throat before continuing. “Danbarrah has alternative fuels, resources beneath the ground, but international pressure keeps the country from accessing them. So people who cannot afford the high costs of imported fuels will burn wood or dirty coal. Or dung.”
There is bitterness in his voice.
Her northern home had a wood fireplace, but the population there was sparse, and the air remained clear and clean. She blinks away tears that coat her eyes in rebellion against the smog in the air.
The riverbank becomes crowded with dilapidated structures. Women, men, and even some children stand in the water washing dirty clothing from their baskets or taking river baths. She has often bathed in the river, but the water here does not have the same brilliant blue she is used to.
A carcass of a dead animal, perhaps a small dog, floats by. A man dumps a bag full of garbage into the water. She closes her eyes against the sights, resting her paddle on the edge of the boat.
This entire journey she has felt a fatigue she does not remember experiencing when she had traveled with Ash. It penetrates her muscles.
“Well, that’s rest enough for me. We’re not far now. Mind giving me a turn, Cedar?”
Slate makes a show of stretching his arms, but Cedar does not doubt his perception. She does not protest. Once she is settled into the center of the boat, she sinks against the baggage and falls asleep.
When she wakes, Finch is steering them towards an abandoned building on the riverbank where they will spend the day out of sight. Finch leaves to hide the canoe, while Slate and Cedar do their best to lie out their bedding among the debris left behind by regular squatters.
Cedar soon falls back asleep, indifferent to the smell and filth of the house.
Slate shakes her awake that night after the city has gone to bed. They pack their belongings. Finch has stashed most of their gear with the canoe, and what remains is light and easy to carry. They leave the river and plunge deeper into the poverty-stricken city. Buildings are packed tight together, and there are no street lamps to light their way. The smog that hangs above them obscures all light and comfort from the sky. She can barely make out the outlines of her companions. Cedar follows closely behind Finch, while Slate takes up the rear.
Cedar trips over something. She catches her balance but cringes at the noise that resounds through the empty streets. Ahead of her, Finch pauses. None of them move until long moments have passed.
They move through more populated areas. An occasional light spills out from a decrepit window, but they keep to the shadows, an easy thing to do in a city that seems largely without electricity.
Even in the dark, it is apparent that it lacks the amenities of the cities she has read about. Many buildings are ancient. Some look to be near collapse. The larger buildings that look to have once been grand houses or schools have their windows boarded over.
In one part of the city, buildings that can be called nothing better than shacks boast signs and advertisements. Neon lights, hung here and there with half the letters lit up, cast shadow lights on other signs made of paper or wood boards that advertise groceries or services such as laundry and medicine.
Cedar breathes a sigh of relief when they leave the last of the ramshackle buildings behind and move along the ditch of a poorly maintained dirt road in the country.
An owl hoots, and a small creature wreathed in shadow scampers across the ditch. They walk for miles, stopping for rests along the way. The air tastes better. Cedar can see the moon and stars in the sky.
Eventually, a towering hill can be seen in the distance, an outline of a large brick building on top. It is the monastery Slate has told her about, where she will be staying. The building is wide and several stories high. As a shadow on a hill, it looks the size of a castle. When they come closer Cedar feels as dwarfed as she does under her magnificent trees in the north.
Finch moves along the ground level of the building. He taps lightly on a window in a distinctive rhythm.
They wait quietly until a figure draped in gray flowing robes with a white head covering comes sailing towards them from a side door. The figure throws her arms around Finch.
When the couple part, a young woman turns to welcome Cedar and Slate. She gives Slate an enthusiastic hug, then extends a hand to Cedar.
“I am Calla,” she says, “a nun only in uniform.”
Cedar takes her hand.
“Cedar needs a quiet place,” Finch says.
Calla glances at Finch. When she turns back to Cedar, Calla throws her arms around her and says, “We will take care of you here.”