Victoria (23)

“I think you’re wishing Ijna and I will take it — a boy or girl?”
    “I shouldn’t think to know,” the black rider replied.  “Would you take it?  At least until I have the girl off my hands.  Then my hands would be free to surreptitiously find a place for the child.”
    “I’m sure Ijna would not mind,” said Elia warmly.  “He came from a large family, you know, and hopes to have the same if we can ever get ourselves above this awful place.  But how many years is the child?”
    “Probably less than one,” said the black rider.  “She’s in my room with the captive girl I’ve brought back.  She’ll need a nurse soon.”
    “I will take her,” Elia agreed.
    “Thank you,” he said, tapping his fingers on his throat.  “I’ll be back in a moment.”  He turned and stepped out the window and in three strides was back in his room.  The squirrel chattered as he entered.
    Aritka was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her soft wool skirt pulled up so her tall leather boots were clearly visible.  The fussing baby lied across her lap and an open book was in her hands.  Her hair was falling around her face and her brow was furrowed over her pretty eyes.  “Come.  I’ve found a nurse for the child.”
    Aritka stood but she seemed uncertain.  “There is someone who will take care of the child?” she said.
    “They will take care of her for the time being,” he said.  “I’ll check with them again once… later.”
    When she stood few feet from him, she met his eyes for a moment and said, “Will she have a nice home?”
    “Yes,” he said simply.
    She stretched out her arms, gazing down at the child.  “Then you may have her.”
    Cursing himself for hesitation, he took the child in his own arms.  “Put the cloak on my shoulders,” he said.  “I need to conceal the child.”  Aritka silently went back to the books and, kneeling, lifted the cloak from the place it had fallen when it slid off her shoulders.  Without looking up at him even once, she fastened it around his neck, reaching up high to get it around his head which stood over hers.  It wasn’t until she reached back and pulled the hood over his head that she met his eyes.  In her eyes was an expression that hadn’t read there yet since he knew her.  With a growing nag in his heart, he slowly came to the truth.  “You’re depending on me to be trustworthy.  You’ve become attached to this child.”



To Be Continued...

Victoria (22)

    “Are you a scholar?” she asked, kneeling down to inspect the books.  A tome on Jinaj culture was the first selection.  Others included languages, philosophies, and legends.  A small, compact book on the bottom looked to be an ancestral record volume.
    “No,” he said, “not really.  I’m a well-known millionaire and a landlord.  Now hearken.  One of those is a book on the dialect here.  Take it and learn it.  People here have a jealous pride in their dialect and especially hate loose Kinly tribe dialect.  My prince will not be pleased to hear you call him a konzilon.”
    “The baby is stirring,” said Aritka, loosing her cloak and letting it fall to the floor.  The child was indeed beginning to fuss, but she seemed placate enough for the time.
    “Keep her quiet,” he said.  “I’ll return in a moment.”  He stepped through the window and checked to make sure the curtains were tight.  Two rooms down, the flowery curtains were pulled apart and pots of flowers stood to either side of both windows.  Elia, Inja’s wife, was from Eliadur, an ally of Jinaj and she hated the dreary city.  Her apartment was the opposite of the black rider’s.  There was a bright, thick rug under a lovely, carved rocking chair, padded with a matching fabric.  In one corner was a worn mattress for their bed.  Potted plants were everywhere, but there were no animals, not even a cat, and there wasn’t a single book to be seen.  Elia was uneducated and Ijna had no time.
    “Why, Jon!” exclaimed Elia, getting up from the rocking chair.  Her bulging belly reminded the black rider ashamedly of the Ganjak tradition that expectant mothers were not to be seen.  Even though he was on close relations with her and her husband, beyond all his control, a blush crept up into his cheeks.  “What brings ya by on this fine day?  Oh, was your raid successful?”
    “Yes, Elia,” said the black rider.  “That’s why I’m here, in a way.  But what I wish to discuss with you is very secret.  I can’t have rumors about.”
    “I’ll say nothin’, Jon,” she promised.
    “There’s a child,” he said, and quickly, “Not hers!  But a child that she found abandoned and took into her keeping just before we left the village.  We were pressed else I would have told her leave it.  You can see why it must be secret — and why I must get rid of it.”
    “Oh, aye, yes, I see that,” Elia said thoughtfully.




To Be Continued....

Victoria (21)

    “Jon,” said the woman, pleased.  “You’ve returned.”
    “Yes,” said the black rider, not unkindly.
    “And is this the girl you’ve brought back for our prince?” said she.  Aritka tried to seem resentful and shy, bowing her head and looking at the ground; but the woman grabbed Aritka’s chin and forced Aritka to look her in the eyes.  “Fortune!  A lovely thing she is!  I feel you will score well with this one, Jon.  Can you sing, prisoner?”
    “Yes, katinka,” said Aritka.  “I am well trained.”
    The woman pulled back in repulsion.  “Horrible Kinese language, if I’m not mistaken!  You’ll have to teach her not to use it for it will not please the prince.”
    “Thank you, yanna,” he said.  “You are right of course.”  He tapped two fingers to his throat and nodded sharply.  She took the signal and repeated, hobbling off.  Aritka stood silently, watching the stiff back of the black rider – Jon here – and listening to the tap of the woman’s cane.  When it had gone long out of earshot, the black rider’s sharp voice said, “Speak to no one.”
    Aritka wisely said nothing, and the black rider led her up the steps briskly, not looking back.  She followed him meekly, to the left and up the staircase to the second floor.  The windows were bigger than they first appeared and the black rider stepped effortlessly through the first one on the corner.
    They were met with another of those black squirrels.  It chattered and hissed but the black rider threw it a nut of some sort and the squirrel dove after it.  Then he scampered back and jumped up onto his pile of books again.  Beside the pile was a large, dark purple feather pillow.  Underneath was a large, circular, brown, faded rug, apparently woven in Jinaj fashion.  Because the room was on the corner of the building, there were four windows, which were all hung with dark curtains.  Otherwise, the room was dreadfully bare, and Aritka suspected this wasn’t his real home.



To Be Continued....

Victoria (20)

    Jinaj village was a great, grey, ugly erection of buildings, dark and lifeless; not including the ivy and lichen that grew over everything, which was certainly alive.  A cat hopped from roof to roof and went out of sight around the corner.  A dog began to bark.  Sensing the danger was gone, a squirrel hopped out of hiding, sniffing the dead leaves in the street.  This squirrel was black as a closet with a tail as bushy as a threatened cat.  The street was otherwise deserted, but when the squirrel turned to check the two people, its red eyes alone made Aritka nervous.  She drew her cloak tighter around the child.
    “Come this way,” said the black rider.  He led her down a narrow alley, only just wide enough for single file.  The cold stone walls were covered in scaly lichen that flaked off on Aritka’s cloak.  Mold grew in the damp places.
    The lane opened out on a courtyard.  It was empty, save for a few, small black birds.  A dry fountain stood in the center, lichen lining the bowl.  Six wide steps led up to the public housing complex, which was made of the same grey stone as everything else.  A porch branched off to either side and wrapped around the sides.  Staircases connected to the deck above, and so on to the sixth level.  There were twelve square windows on the front side of each floor, most of which were empty but showed signs that someone occupied the room.  There didn’t appear to be any doors.
    As Aritka and the black rider approached the steps, an old woman hunched over a cane came around the corner and limped down the stairs.  “Keep the child hidden,” the black rider said quietly, and Aritka pulled the cloak straighter.



To Be Continued....

Victoria (19)

    Aritka looked down at the child in her arms.  “So what shall I do with the child?” she asked a second time.  “I will not abandon it willingly.”
    “I would not have you do so,” he said.  “I rent a room in public housing and I have neighbors who will take her.  When I left my village, there was an expectant mother in the room adjacent to mine.  She will take your child.”
    “You are merciful,” said Aritka, but had she really believed that, she would have expected him to turn around and take her home.  Now, however, such a thing seemed impossible.  They could not get all the way back through Ganjak territory to Kinly, especially with the Rikaks of the Ganjak tribe looking for them.
    The black rider did not bother with rope.  Aritka was clever and would know the foolishness of trying to run away.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she had accepted her future.  He didn’t morn the loss of his horse either because he knew Latvita knew his way home.  And he suspected he’d have to find a new public housing complex.  His sketchy business needed to be kept far from his estate but suspicions were arising among his neighbors.
    “We’re in Jinaj territory now,” the black rider said after a while.  “It’s not far.”  They were standing on upland and the village was below them in a valley.  Aritka saw the grey turrets rising among the trees.  “You’re not to mention my name there,” he added sharply.
    Aritka was disgusted and insulted.  “Of course not, sir,” she said.
    Once more, he turned to look at her.  “I know you wouldn’t,” he said.  “Don’t be offended.”



To Be Continued....

Victoria (18)

    Aritka shifted the dozing child in her arms.  “What am I to do with the child when we get to the city?” she asked, as he led the way onward.  “I know you would not be able to sell me if I was seen with a child.”
    The black rider turned and looked into her eyes.  “You resent me,” he said simply.
    “Yes,” said she, “greatly.”
    “Let me ask,” he said, pausing in their journey to discuss.  “When the men of your village brought girls from elsewhere, did you resent your people?”
    “No,” she said.  He might have continued, but she added, “No, let me finish.  I did not resent my own people because my pride in my people blinded me.  I was foolish – I admit that.  I never thought on the issue before.  When I was young, I resented it when I saw my kinswomen taken by other tribes, but I thought not on the women my own people abducted.  I know that now.”
    “Then you have become wiser,” he said, striding forward.
    She followed.  “No, I have become more knowledgeable,” she said, “of my own foolishness.”
    “It is true that wisdom does not always accompany knowledge,” said the black rider, “but I believe it does knowledge of this kind.”




To Be Continued....

Victoria (17)

    The black rider calmed himself and forced his mind to think straight.  “Come now,” he said, “think before your pistol shots gather the attention they rightly deserved.”  The last he remembered seeing of her was at the top of the hill by the barn.  He trotted back up there and looked around.  The Jargrare had not gotten up here before him, he knew that, and so she could have easily gotten away.  Perhaps she had made a run for it, trying to get back to her own country.  But she was wiser than that.
    It was strange that the Jargrare had disappeared as fast as they had come, and the black rider could not figure out where they had gone, or why.  He knew, however, that they had indeed gone so he called out warily, “Aritka.”  He repeated the call and whipped around when a noise finally answered.
    Nearly toppling the majority of the hay, Aritka pushed out of the stack.  She seemed hugely relieved to see him.  “I was afraid the Rikaks had gotten you, sir,” she said.  “I heard a scream.”
    “I have buried the victim,” he said, “and taken care of the murderer.  But now we must go on, and quickly.  So far as we are now concerned, there is no such thing as too much haste.”
    Aritka noted that his accent was Ganjak once more, but she had learned he didn’t like to discuss his background.  “How far must we travel from here?”
    The black rider tugged some hay out of her curls and straightened her cloak around her shoulders.  “This is a good cloak,” he said.  “It did not tear.  You are fortunate to have it.  We need only travel a little farther, and even on foot, it will not take long.  I suppose our proximity to the border is what made the Jargrare leave so quickly.”


To Be Continued....

Victoria (16)

The black rider stiffened as the dismay swept over him like a wave.  They had captured Aritka!  His stomach flipped as a picture of her and the baby being ripped to pieces flashed through his mind.  He jumped down from the barn loft – not bothering with the stairs – and ran outside.  He knew the direction of the scream – he just barreled in that direction.
    The Jargrar’s den was not far.  The rippling back muscles stuck out of the hole in the ground and the black rider ran at it, screaming and waving his pistol.  He shot in its general direction, too blinded by nausea and hatred to bother with aim.  The bullet went wide but the creature jumped out of its den, immediately covering the opening with dirt.  It ran at the black rider, but it had no chance.  The black rider aimed and fired – when he was aiming, he was a perfect marksman.
    The black rider spared no time for the dead Jargrar.  He fell to his knees outside the den and scraped at the loose dirt.  Frantically, he hauled handfuls of it out of the hole, preparing himself for what he’d find there.  He knew it was hopeless – by the time he’d arrived, the Jargrar had had plenty of time.  Still, she had a right to be treated properly in her death.  He dug on.
    No matter how hard he tried, the black rider could not picture her lovely face marred by the vicious fangs of her murderer.  He could not bear to think of it.  Still, he knew how it would be.  Her curled hair would be strewn about in clumps.  Her dress would be stained too deep a red to ever be repaired.  But, most importantly, her large, clear eyes, which were a delicacy to Jargrare, would never look reproaching at him again.  They would never have a chance to look on him with favor.  Even if, by some miracle, they were still in her skull, they would be lifeless.
    He had reached the bottom.  Three feet down, the pit ended and the den curved away, underneath the ground.  He bent down into it and, with twisting stomach, forced himself to reach out.  He pulled the corpse out into the light and felt himself go dizzy.  It would not be so bad, he thought, if the vision of her as she should be was not haunting his imagination.  But it was.
    The body had not yet been torn into pieces, but it was badly mangled.  Eyes already gone, there were no distinguishable features to it, except that it wore a dress, which was bedraggled and torn.
    But then it struck him.  Now he was grateful for the vision of Arikta that persisted to haunt him, for the body before him was not quite right.  Firstly, the hair was not the right shade.  But what really assured him was the dress, torn as it was – for it was not the right style, nor the right color.
    Everything that was the black rider sighed in relief.  Of course, it was disgusting that an innocent girl had found death in such a way – he always found it sickening when he even heard the stories of victims – but this was not Aritka.
    And so where was she?  And where was the child she carried with her?  They must be safe – surely, they were safe.



To Be Continued....

Victoria (15)

    Aritka was silent.  The baby fussed and she shifted the child up to her shoulder.  The light was already growing dim and every night sound made her nervous.  The night bird’s song was eerie.  Everywhere she wasn’t looking, she thought she could see movements in the shadows.  “Is there someone following us?” she asked once.  The black rider said nothing but looked sharply around.  Aritka didn’t dare say anything after that.  Somehow, she felt a little better with the cloak pulled close around her and the child, and something about speaking felt like revealing their position to the enemy.
    Even so, she was sure, a few times, that there was something lurking in the shadows.  So sure, in fact, that when she saw it dodge from one tree to the next, she finally said again, low, “I think there’s something there.”  She looked up to find the black rider staring into the shadows as well.
    “Aritka,” he said slowly, quietly.  “Just up this hill is a clearing.  At the top is a small farm.  Hide there if –” A horn sounded, quite nearby.  Aritka and the black rider jumped and turned to the sound.  The black rider leaned over and untied her pack mule.  “Go!” he shouted, slapping the rear of the mule.  It raced up the hill and Aritka grabbed at its mane frantically, clutching the baby to her tightly.
    Around her, the trees cleared as the black rider had said they would.  Above was the farm.  Aritka gained control of her mount and pulled him up short.  Down below, Jargrare were surrounding the black rider.  They had gathered fast to the sound of the horn, though the horn bearer was nowhere in sight.  The black rider was bravely using his pistol to bring some of them down, all the while backing his horse up the hill.  The Jargrare seemed strangely shy to simply take him all at once.
    Aritka kicked the mule on up the hill to the barn where there was a haystack.  She rode around it and dismounted, taking any necessary supplies off the animal and dumping them on the ground.  She slapped the horse and he ran off.  Stowing their things under some loose hay, she dug into the haystack itself, keeping her cloak around the child to protect it from the sharp straws.  Deeper and deeper she buried herself, the fear of being smothered in the stack weighing only on the back of her mind.  Instead, she was terribly afraid that the Rikaks would smell her out in the haystack and that she would not even have the chance to run.
    It seemed an age before she heard anything besides her own breathing.  She desperately tried to slow her beating heart, but it didn’t help that she held her breath every time she thought she heard a noise.  Finally, she detected the heavy falling of horse hooves.  That could only be the black rider, she reasoned, for Rikaks don’t ride horses, but she hesitated to call out.  The horse went away and silence reigned again.  It seemed hours before she heard another sound.
    There was a scream.  Aritka almost cried out herself for the horror it imparted on her.  The child in her arms jolted but Aritka was too shocked to soothe her.  She listened intently for another sound but there was nothing.  A horrible sick feeling grew in her belly and she wanted to die.  It was horrid to think of the black rider, dragged underground and torn to shreds by hungry Rikak fangs.  She was tempted to run out and reveal herself, to scream and attack the Rikak – kill it if she could – but the weight of the child held her sensibly back.  Tears rolling down her cheeks, she bitterly admitted there was nothing she could do.  And giving herself to the Rikak was suicide.  And what of the baby?
    With this decided, Aritka’s mind began to turn to more optimistic thoughts.  The scream had not sounded properly male – it sounded more like a girl’s scream.  This was hardly comforting, really, but at least it would not have been the black rider.  Perhaps her new acquaintance was still alive.  But, surely, there was little chance the man could have survived.



To Be Continued....

Victoria (14)

The black rider swung into his saddle.  “I think the goodbyes have sufficiently been said,” he grumbled, and kicked his horse forward.
    “May rains give you prosperity,” Aritka called back.  As they disappeared between the trees, she pulled the cloak around her for comfort and hid the child in it.  “How far is it to Jinjan?” she asked the black rider quietly.
    “It would take only until it falls dark,” he said, glancing up through the trees, “but we will avoid the path.  It’s being watched.”
    They traveled at a fast pace, and now, with naught else to think about, Aritka worried about her future.  The time when she would arrive at Jinjan was fast approaching now, where she would be dressed up in the finest of Jinaj attire and presented to the prince.  The paths before Aritka were clear – she would be chosen as princess or she would become a slave to some stranger with a strange dialect.  A few feet down either path became hazy and worrisome.  Aritka now began to dread getting to the crossroads.
    “Why do you serve Jinaj?” she asked the black rider.
    “They are my people,” he said.  “I serve for the same reason you do.”
    “But you are Ganjak, not Jinaj,” said Aritka.
    “I am native Jinaj,” said the black rider, sounding confused.  “Born and bred there, with sweat and blood.”
    “Your speech slips into the Ganjak when you are comfortable,” insisted Aritka.
    “And when I am angry, it is Fiketian,” he said irritably.  “Your argument is naught.”



To Be Continued....

Victoria (13)

“We have to go,” said the black rider when Aritka had stepped into the room.  He pushed the door back in place.  “I didn’t intend to stay the night.  We must get to Jinjan tonight.  We only needed to avoid a pack of Jakgrare that were between us and our destination.”  He went out and ran to the stables.
    “We have those in the Kinly territory,” Aritka told Geneeva, “but we call them Rikaks.  One took my mother when I was young.  But they do not usually make house visits.”
    “Things are different here, dear,” said Geneeva, rummaging in a chest.  She drew out a majestic purple cloak and threw it around Aritka’s shoulders.  Aritka tapped her own forehead by way of gratitude in the manner of her tribe and handed back the cheesecloth.  “Do care for yourself,” said Geneeva, leading the young girl to the door.  “Haste be yours.  You’ll need it to get to Jinjan without capture.  And I’m sure you’ll win the prince’s fancy.”
    “I do not wish for it,” said Aritka.  “I do not think he sounds like a kind sort of person.  He sounds foul.”
    “Yes, you might be right,” said Geneeva, watching as her husband and the black rider led the mounts out of the stable.  “Still, how disappointing for you to have been torn away from home, dragged across hostile territory, and so close to life of highest heaven, only to lose it.”
    “I can think of better endings,” Aritka said lightly, but she saw that Geneeva had an argument.  She mounted the pack mule and the black rider secured him to the stallion.  “Thank you, Geneeva,” Aritka said, touching her forehead, “and you, Gangar.  I will care for the cape and try to arrange for its passage back to you.”
    “No need,” said Geneeva.  The matron stepped out of the way and smiled warmly.  “You are a great beauty.  The cloak will make a good impression when you get to town.  Use it well.  Use it often.”
    “Thank you, katinka,” said Aritka gratefully.  “Raise petitions that I find a mother for the child.”
    “We will,” said Geneeva, after a moment of faltering over the girl’s strange dialect.  “May all protection be with you.”


To Be Continued....

Um... "Victoria"?

I have neglected to post "Victoria", which for those you who don't know, is a story I've written and decided to post in parts.  I'm sorta proud of it, sorta not.  And actually, I haven't finished it.  But this month, the busiest yet, I failed to post any Victoria at all.  And all of a sudden, it's the end of the month.  Now, because I am only partially proud of it, and because all my attention is directed at another novel, I don't really care if I keep posting it or not.  I will probably stop posting it unless you tell me you want to keep reading it.

The name Victoria came from the leading lady's original name "Victoria".  When I had to save the document, I typed in her name real quick so I could identify the file later.  Since then, I've kept it as a sort of Latin title, victoria meaning victory.  I've thought of changing the name to the English meaning - do you object?  Of course you don't, of course you don't.  I mean, what right have you to object, anyhow?  But since I have already demonstrated the fact that I don't care, I'm interested in your opinion anyway.

(I've also neglected to post entries from Titheneth's diary.  Goodness, and the month is gone!  But I will give you a few more installments of my April Fools prank before the month is out, that I promise you.)

~Meggy

Victoria (12)

             Geneeva glanced out the window and then went to the jug of milk.  “Gangar, quick, move the shelf.  I’ll get a cheesecloth of milk for the child.”  Gangar got up and jerked the shelf out of place, putting the perfume bottles on the table.  The black rider threw his shoulder against the door and jarred it open.  Geneeva handed the dripping cloth to Aritka and the whole process was quickly done in reverse.

            “Shut that kid up!” said the black rider, but it was said in the Kinly dialect and Aritka didn’t understand at first.

            It didn’t matter – she was already trying hard to soothe the vexed child.  “He’s coming out of the barn,” warned Geneeva.  “Hurry, dear!”  Aritka finally thrust one milk-soaked corner of the cloth into the baby’s mouth, and the baby, interested, quieted and sucked.  Gangar promptly went out.  “Be careful, dear,” Geneeva called after him.  “Gangar’s talking to the Jakgrar,” she said after a moment.  “The Jakgrar is going away.  Gangar’s going to the stable….  He’s given the sign – you can come out now.”

            Geneeva crossed the room and carefully rearranged all the perfume bottles on the table.  With effort, she pulled the shelf out of place and stood back.  The black rider, more carefully this time, jarred the door open.

Victoria (11)

             The black rider felt the girl beside him shiver.  He looked out through the cracks and watched the creature slam the door.  The girl fidgeted, but it was not time to emerge.  Geneeva stayed at the window, watching.  “He goes to the stable,” she muttered, just loud enough for them all to hear.

            “I properly secured and hid the trap door,” said Gangar absentmindedly.  He sat as if listening, waiting for something.  “He won’t find the horses.”

            No one moved for several minutes.  All was quiet.  Aritka began to feel very stiff standing between two walls.  The baby fidgeted, fussed, and began to complain.  Beside her, Aritka felt the black rider go stiff.  “Now is not the time,” he entreated her roughly.

            Aritka frantically tried bouncing her.  She rocked her and offered her knuckle.  The child wouldn’t be contented.  “She won’t settle!” Aritka said anxiously.

Victoria (10)

             A Jakgrar knocked on the door.  “Open!” it growled.  Geneeva promptly opened the door for a tall creature.  It had the body of a Great Dane, but just over the forelegs grew the torso of man.  A savage face peered out of a bald skull and when it licked its lips with its great tongue, sharp fangs inside were revealed.  It peered around the room.  “How is it you are always brewing cologne?” it demanded.

            “We are perfume brewers,” said Gangar steadily.  “It is our living.  We are acknowledged far and wide for our perfume and must brew it constantly to meet the demands.”

            “Yes I know,” said the Jakgrar.  “You’ve told me so before.”  He paced the room silently, looking over everything, until he came to the fireplace.  “I’ve received word from a scout that there are trespassers on our fair ground.”

            “The friendly breed I hope,” said Gangar.

            “On the divergent,” said the Jakgrar viciously.  “I caught a scent and it led me here.”

            “We’ve not spotted anything of the sort,” said Gangar.

            The beast turned to Geneeva.  “I thought you might have, O woman glowering at the window.”

            “I’ve not seen any antagonistic intruders,” she said, looking out the window once more.  “Did you come alone this time?”

            “If you behave, there’ll be no need for biting,” he growled threateningly.

            “That is a great comfort to us poor simpletons, great Jakgrar,” Gangar mocked him.

            The Jakgrar did not realize he was being teased.  “It should well be,” he said, going to the door.  “You appear to be within the law.  If I catch you harboring fugitives, however, I will drag you off to my den.”

Victoria (9)

Just as he selected a section of goose for her, there was a noise outside.  Aritka had not yet identified it but the black rider shot up out of his chair excitedly.

“They got here early,” muttered Gangar, collecting two of the trenchers and stashing them away.

Geneeva hobbled to the window.  “Indeed, it’s Jakgrar!” she hissed.  “Hadrian, take the girl.”

Aritka had never heard the word ‘Jakgrar’.  She could not know what it was, but she well understood the reaction.  She snatched up the sleeping child just as the black rider grabbed her arm.  He led her to the back of the room where Gangar was sliding a section out of the shelves that lined the wall.  The black rider pulled a door out and thrust Aritka into the space beyond.  With a glance over his shoulder at Geneeva standing at the front window, he slid into the cramped space beside the girl and jammed the door shut behind him.  From inside, they could hear the shelf being slid back into place.  A pleasant but strong odor filed the air.

Victoria (8)

Aritka struck another match and lit the last few candles on the table.

“Oh, skies!” exclaimed Geneeva then.  She grabbed Aritka’s arm and examined the wrist.  “What are these irritations?”

“That is where the rope was tied,” said Aritka.

“Hadrian, you can’t possibly have allowed this,” protested Geneeva.  She retrieved some bandage from her medicine bag and wrapped it around the chafing.

The black rider silently volunteered to carve the goose.  “They say the prince is more sympathetic to those who have been injured by their journey,” he said.  “A regrettable effect of rope but necessary all the same.”

Geneeva grunted.  “Pity?” she scoffed.  “If he had any genuine pity for those poor girls, he’d throw the perpetrators of such maltreatment into prison.”

“There is no admirable morality in this prince,” observed Aritka coolly.

Geneeva glanced approvingly at her.  “What will you do with Aritka if you do not get the reward for her?” turning to the black rider.

“Someone might pay a good price for a new slave,” he said.  “I will not need her any longer.  I have a plethora of my own slaves.”

Geneeva exchanged frustrated glances with Gangar. 

The black rider knew they were trying to trap him into telling what he thought of the girl, but he thought naught of her.  Perhaps she was noble and beautiful, but he tried not to think of her at all.  “Aritka, hand me your trencher,” he said.

Victoria (7)

In the house, Geneeva and Aritka were busy setting the table with plentiful food.  A roast goose sat in the center and bowls of rice sat to either side.  There were also plates of spinach, all set up in Ganjak tribe fashion.

“Eh, Geneeva!” said the old man as he came into the house.  “Hadrian says he’s taking the girl to his prince!”

“Indeed, Gangar?” exclaimed the old woman.  She watched the black rider irritably shoulder his way to the table and sit down.  “What is your name, girl?”

“Aritka,” said the girl.

"What a pretty captive, though,” said Geneeva, speaking to the black rider once again.  “Agree, Hadrian?  You’ll get a mighty price for her.”

“I intend to,” said the black rider dryly, and the conversation seemed over.
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To Be Continued  

Victoria (6)

The black rider thought the old man would ask about the child.  He did not.  And with each passing moment, what had not been discussed became more awkward.  If he was taking the girl to see the prince, she could not be his wife.  From whence did the child come then?  The prince would only want virgins.  “The child isn’t hers,” the black rider said at last.  “The mother died and the girl is taking care of it.”  The atmosphere cooled, so he went on.  “I am trying to decide what to do with it.  It would not do for the prince’s men to see her with the child.”

“We cannot take the child,” said the old man.  He left the pack mule some hay and swung the stall door shut.  “Geneeva and I are too old to care for a child like we once did.”

“I was not going to ask,” said the black rider, but the thought had occurred to him.

The old man chuckled.  “The dialect you’ve picked up is the girl’s, I imagine?”

The black rider rolled his eyes and led the way out of the stables.

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To Be Continued....

Victoria (5)

In the stables, the black rider rubbed his horse down with a rag and gave him a sugar cube.  Every now and then, he glanced over at the old man in the stall across, caring for the pack mule.  The old man was waiting for him to say something, probably about the girl, but the black rider would say nothing.  The old man would speak eventually if he waited.

“So, is this… the girl, then?” asked the man at last. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the black rider.

“Is she yours?”

“I’m taking her to my prince,” said the black rider sharply, ending the direction of the conversation. 

The old man watched the black rider give his valued horse another sugar cube.  He would not ask the obvious question, but it would occur to the younger man in a moment.

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To Be Continued....