Jack rolled out from under the wagon.
This, he immediately realized, had been a bad idea. His clothing, still the outfit bought by Gary the morning before, was now soaked with the morning dew. He stood, shivering a bit in the cool air. The morning light was just on the horizon, the last of the stars fading from view. Well, he was awake at least, with no need of washing. Shaking his head at his folly, he wiped his bare arms with his hand, removing the water. The now damp fingers went to his head, brushing his blond hair into a shape that, at least, felt somewhat neat. He couldn't actually see, so in a way his hair looked however he thought it looked. That's how reality worked, after all.
Jack looked around the camp. He was the first up. Gary was still asleep, having bedded down under the wagon with Jack at some point in the night. All three girls were still in the wagon.
He didn't know what to make of them. Of any of them. Jack was not a complicated person. He knew this, for all his memory had been played with. He did not want drama. Conflict. His father had been a simple farmer, working hard, returning home from the field and just enjoying his family. Never had Jack heard of dreams unfulfilled, of desires of travel. Stories of the wider world were just tales, entertainments that never evoked desires to see cities and heroes any more than tales of the gods made one want to seek out their company. Gods were to be avoided. So, too, cities, armies... witches.
His eyes went to the woods, and the wilds beyond. He could run. There must, surely, be a limit to the distance Wendy's control over him could travel. Jack could be a mile away, father, before she woke. And what could she do, with the others there with her? Sam would stop her from pursuing him. Sam would...
Jack looked back at the wagon.
Sam.
He could still feel her kiss. The feel of her against him, her chest against his. Two days. He had known her, all of them, for two days. If he left now, her hold on his heart could be easily broken. Painfully, true, but she would soon be just a dream. A dream of what could have been. Would his freedom be worth living on with just her memory? This was his one chance. Hesitate, and the choice would be made for him...
****
Sam dropped from the wagon, wet grass around her bare feet removing the last vestige of sleep from her mind. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. It had been... how long? Two weeks? Three? since they had fled the city. Three weeks since the stench of sewage, the press of people, had assaulted her on waking. It amused her that she had that thought every morning, and probably would most mornings to come, until the dreaded day her father's path took them once again into a city. Maybe she could talk him out of it.
Her eyes slid back into the dark of the wagon, to the lumpy blanket covered form on the floor. That's not all she wanted to talk him out of.
Sam couldn't be mad at her father. Or Wendy, at least not regarding this. Dad... took comfort in the arms of women. He did not hide it from them, was not ashamed. Nor was Sam embarrassed or upset with that aspect of his life. It made him happy, in ways neither Sam nor Polly could. Since their mother had died, that need had to be filled somehow. Polly had to understand that.
His taste in women, though, had never been one Sam could understand.
He had been with Wendy. That... complicated matters. Sam had spent some time awake that night, contemplating if it hurt, or helped. Dad was not one to be bewitched, to let a woman control him. He was strong. So, too, he would never let harm come to one under his protection, one his daughters cared about...
Her eyes flicked to Polly. No. That was no longer true.
It was too much for her. Too complicated. Sam wanted the world black and white, night and day.
Love and hate.
Leaving her two bunkmates to their slumber, Sam walked around the wagon. Jack was sitting by the fire pit, stick in hand. His blond hair stuck out at some odd angles, obviously not well taken care of. Once, she could forgive. Now, though, she saw she'd have to take charge in matters of his grooming. Reaching back into the wagon, her hand fished around blindly in an open satchel. It came out holding a wooden comb. Checking it in the faint light, she removed a few long black hairs. Once decontamination was complete, she approached the fire.
Jack sat on an upright short log set inside the ring of seats, eyes on the fire pit. Sam saw small bits of tinder smoking among the ash. He must have found embers still warm, buried in the remains of last night's fire. As she watched, a small flame appeared. Quickly, but carefully, Jack laid some small twigs over it. Not too much. One of the twigs caught. He began placing larger sticks.
Sam moved up behind him. She wasn't being quiet. Jack seemed to pause for a moment, before continuing in his task. She smiled. So, she was to be ignored. How dare he. Coming to a stop behind him, she put the comb in her mouth, reached out and ran her hands through his hair. The light blond locks were damp, to her surprise. Now Jack did pause, fire spreading to a second stick. Her fingers touched his scalp, running along it as she smoothed out the mess. The shape roughly formed, she retrieved the comb and began to run it through his hair. Jack leaned back against her, body seeming to relax. Wooden teeth catching on a knot, Sam gave a disappointed sigh.
"This is such a mess," she said, softly. "You're obviously not taking care of it." She yanked, the knot giving way much more easily than if it had been in her sister's long hair. He didn't flinch. Sam combed his hair back behind his ears. "You need someone to help you with something like this. Hair should be combed every morning." She paused, examining the length. It was longer than hers, but then she liked her hair cut short. Should she cut his? It did look good long like this...
Jack stayed silent, the fire before them continuing to grow.
****
Polly stood on the stone floor, nude body shivering. She always shivered, just before. It wasn't the cold of the stone, as she wasn't that weak. Nor was it fear. It was... anticipation.
She could sense Timothy behind her, preparing. He was not strong, like her father. Not physically. Nor was he imposing. Mentally, though... oh, mentally, he was as strong and brave as the greatest heroes. Only one who was, could master magic as he had. Or was in the process of mastering. Timothy was not yet there. But, with her help...
Soft hands, the hands of a scholar, took her bare shoulders and turned her. There, on the table, was a small locket. It looked cheap, of questionable artistry. She reached out towards it.
"Is this..."
Gently, he took her arm and lowered it, lips next to her ear.
"Her hair is inside. Once we do this, the Duke's daughter will be able to walk again while she wears this."
Polly's breath caught. The young girl would walk again. The Duke would be indebted to Timothy. He, they, would be rewarded. They could marry. Shivering again, she held out her right arm, palm up, fist clenched.
"Do it. Do it, my love."
She felt his body press against her back. His male member, creator of the child inside her, pressed against her bottom. She could feel it throb. Timothy's left hand came around her body, resting on her belly. The right, knife held loosely, moved over her right wrist. The blade rested against her soft, smooth skin, covering scars of previous spells. Those had been practice. They had been working towards this. Ever since Polly had realized her secret hours with him had created what she desired, he had used her. Used her, as she longed to be used. Her eyes were frozen on the blade, seeming to glow in the flickering candle light.
"I love you, Polly."
His whispered voice flowed through her mind. At that moment, strange characters began to be traced on her barely swollen belly. Polly could swear she could feel her baby react, moving. Without warning, Timothy slid the blade along her wrist.
"Niech dziecko chodzic."
Red blood shot from her arm. It came out in pulses, each beat of her heart sending more of her life force out. Hers, and her child's. Polly could feel the heart of her child, beating alongside hers. This was THIER blood. The blood that fed her baby.
The blood of magic.
It glowed, thousands of pink diamonds inside the river of red. The blood did not fall down, but instead gathered in a swirling mass above her arm. Three pulses. Four.
Timothy released the knife, hand moving swiftly to cover the wound. He spoke another word. A flash of pain, the only pain she had yet felt, hit as she heard the clatter of the blade near her feet. His left hand left her belly, moving towards the table. It pointed at the locket.
"Isc."
The whirlpool of blood moved towards the locket...
The apartment door burst open, its flimsy lock no match for a father enraged. Samantha stood behind him, eyes shocked, horrified. A flash of steal in the hands of the first man she ever loved. As her blood entered the locket, her father's dagger found its mark in the neck of her only other love...
****
Polly jerked awake, sitting up on the narrow bed. Her chest heaved, heart beating hard against it. She could feel them. Feel each of the eleven cuts on her arm. Feel them throb, ache. Feel the pulse of her blood flowing through her body, the pulse of her baby's blood.
She could see the face of Timothy.
"Polly?"
Head turning, she saw Wendy kneeling beside her on the wagon floor. The witch's eyes were wide with worry, red hair a tangled mess. Polly noticed a few blades of grass caught in that hair.
Her father had taken her lover. Was it then fate, that his lover would take Timothy's place?
Reaching her hand out, Wendy placed it on Polly's belly.
"You... you're glowing so much. So much magic. I can see it even under your clothing." She shook her head. "Goddess, I've never seen anything like it."
Polly looked down at herself.
"I wish I could see." She placed a hand over Wendy's. The girl's dark skin was soft, warm. "Timothy said those with magic can never see it, those who can see it can never have it. To be able to... use magic..."
"Power," Wendy whispered. "To have power, to be strong. To be able to bow to no one, to do what you will..." A look of guilt crossed her dark face. With seemingly great effort, her eyes met Polly's. "I'm sorry. Last night, I... your dad..."
Polly let out a sigh, squeezing Wendy's hand.
"I hated you, last night. In the moment. But..." She shook her head. "Now, in the light of day, I understand. You two have looked at each other in ways I didn't want to recognize. It was going to happen. It will happen again, I think?" She looked at Wendy, who nodded, blushing. Polly gave a small smile. "Better you, than some tavern whore, at least. I... I can share him. And you."
Wendy's expression now became confused. Polly took the girl's hand off of her belly and held it with both of her own.
"Use me, Wendy. Make me yours. Use my magic. I know it has to be done. I knew the risk. Timothy fought when I told him, when I offered myself and our baby to him. I know more about what I'm asking than you can imagine. Please."
The girl hung her head, the first time Polly had seen her look weak.
"I... I don't know any female magic. Nothing I could use, with you. I know a few spells that use rats, cast one with a cat, to make foul water drinkable, but that was it. I can try it with you..."
Polly squeezed her hand again.
"I have his books."
Wendy's gaze shot up to meet hers. Polly recognized that look. Greed. Lust. She nodded.
"The books are yours. Study them. When you are ready... I am yours."
****
They were on the road after a breakfast of warmed stew, along with a loaf of day old bread. Soaked in the stew, it was quite tasty. Jack did, however, agree with the general feeling that meat would soon be needed. Gary's snares had been empty.
Jack sat just behind the driver's bench, happy to be done walking. With the sky clear, Gary had taken in the canvas covering the wagon, leaving just the four curved wicker supports arching over the cargo area. Polly had protested the loss of privacy... although not too much, he noted. Certainly not as much as Jack would expect if she, as Sam had whispered to him, was angry with her father over the previous night's activities. Indeed, she seemed... in a good mood. From Sam's look at her sister, Jack figured this was a suspicious sign. Polly and Wendy did keep to the back of the wagon as they traveled, leaving a symbolic gap between the two groups.
That was more than fine with him.
"We're going to need tents."
Jack turned to Sam. She was half turned in her seat, partly to face Gary as he kept the two horses going at a steady pace, but mostly he suspected so she could keep an eye on him. Not that he minded. He had placed himself to have a similar view of her.
"Hmm?" Gary's response to his daughters always amused Jack. Here was a man with long experience with women. Sam turned her head a bit to roll her eyes at Jack, then tried again.
"Tents. Those canvas things people sleep under?"
"So, your schooling went so far as to teach you that? And here I thought you were always getting 'lost' on the way to the tutor the few times I spent good money to send you."
"She was a very willful child," Polly's voice added from behind. "Don't know where she got it from."
Unable to help himself, Jack brought his hand up to Sam's bare arm. She paused in her reply, interpreting his writing. Whatever her retort had been, it was replaced with a bark of laughter. Turning back to her sister, she grinned.
"Jack wants to know what you mean, 'was'."
Polly looked back at the pair, eyebrows raised. Wendy, for her part, looked disturbed.
"Oh," Polly asked her sister, "so Jack talks to you, does he? What else does he have to say?"
Before he could reach out to her again, Sam leaned away and seemed to think, eyes on the clouds. She put a hand to her forehead.
"He says..."
"He says you should get back to the part about tents."
Jack nodded at Gary's words, getting a rude sound from Sam in reply. Turning her back, she reached over and took the reins from her father. He released them without protest.
"We need tents," Sam went on. "Or something. The sleeping arrangements won't work like this."
"Oh?" Gary's voice was no longer quite as playful to Jack. He hoped Sam noticed.
"Yeah. Well, for one, you two are really going to get wet under the wagon the next time it rains. Gonna happen, and you know it. Two, with five of us, we probably will be carrying more supplies with us, and that's going to make it harder to sleep three in the wagon. Wendy is smaller than you, but it's still crowded in there as it is and I would LOVE to actually have room to move a bit at night."
She stopped there, waiting. She kept her eyes on the road as her father regarded her, hand going to stroke his freshly shaved chin. Jack put a hand up to his own chin. He could feel some whiskers there. He'd have to shave, too. He had no desire to have a beard.
"What did you have in mind, Sam?" There was respect in that question. Sam obviously heard it, as when she turned to him Jack could see the slight blush in her cheeks.
"Well, at the very least, we can get a big tarp and some poles, so we can put it up near the fire and cook and eat in the rain and aren't cooped up in the wagon. If it's a blowing rain, we can turn it into a kind of lean-to." Jack was impressed. Gary nodded for her to continue. "For sleep, well, I know you like to stand watch for awhile anyway. We can get you some kind of bedroll, you can stay under the tarp, or the wagon, whatever you want. We then get a tent for Jack, and a larger one for the three of us."
"Oh, so I don't get my own tent?"
"It's your money," Sam told him, smiling. "I was just thinking about the bare minimum. Three tents would be good, too. Heck, I'd love one of my own, but I'm not going to ask."
"I know," Gary told her, reaching out to rub her head. His eyes glanced over at Jack, sitting behind his daughter, then returned to her. "Is that how you see the sleeping arrangements? Me, Jack, and you three?"
Sam's face turned serious.
"If you'd like them some other way, just tell us."
Jack looked back at Wendy. The wonderful witch he would not dare think anything bad about was blushing, eyes not meeting his. He almost felt sorry for her, having to deal with last night among them like this. Almost. Gary must have also seen her. The man sighed.
"Wendy..."
"Dad." Polly moved to sit next to Wendy, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Not now. At camp, you two can talk. Don't embarrass her like this." Wendy looked up at her, grateful. Polly gave her a squeeze. "I do like the tent idea, though. Give us all some privacy. If we're going to keep going, not settle down..."
She turned, looking behind them. Jack and the others did as well. The road behind was empty.
"No," Gary told them. "We won't be stopping for awhile."
****
Heather pressed her body down flat on the ground, trying to will herself invisible. Rocks and sticks pushed back into her skin, as if fighting off her attack on their domain. She ignored them. One sound. One sound from them, and the Duke's men would be on them. She had to be strong...
Cathy's body trembled against hers. The eight year old, clutching a doll that no longer looked like the plaything of royalty, also kept silent. She was a good girl, strong. Risking the movement, Heather slowly moved her arm over her, hugging Cathy closer. The trembling eased.
With a command, the horses on the road galloped off. The two girls waited. After a few moments, Heather decided to risk raising her head. Slowly, her eyes rose over the small rock they had cowered behind.
The road was empty.
"They're gone."
She sat up, brushing off her frock. Close. Too close. True, there was no indication that those men were after them, but why take chances? Cathy was too easy to recognize.
Cathy pulled herself up into a sitting position as well. With arms stronger, probably, than those of her servant despite being half her age, the thin brown haired girl wrenched her useless legs around. Heather watched, knowing better than to try and help. Instead, she looked around, making sure they still had their packs.
"Do we know Mother and Father sent them?"
Heather shook her head.
"No. Are you sure you don't want to go back? Tell your father, have him look?"
Now it was Cathy's turn to shake her head.
"Father fears magic. You know that. If we could have gone to him at the start..." She sighed, looking so much older than her years. Cathy gave her dirty doll a hug, then looked around. "You'll have to find us another horse. We're still a few days behind them, right?"
Heather reached into a pocket, a sigh of relief, as always, escaping when she found the compass where it was suppose to be. Pulling it out, she opened the lid. Inside the two inch long round wooden box, loadstone shavings were slowly moving, reforming. As she watched, they formed an arrow. Heather held it out to show to her Mistress.
"The arrow is the same size, so we're not losing ground. Unless the warlock's power is fading."
"Let's go then. His wife HAS to have it..."
Nodding in agreement, although not really believing, Heather stood, turned, and knelt down with her back to the girl. Cathy grabbed on to her neck, as Heather fastened belts and straps under and around the young girl's body, moving the useless legs around her waist, fastening the feet together. With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet, staggering for a moment as the weight shifted.
"You OK back there, Miss?"
"I'm good. Hand me the pack." Heather squatted a bit, grabbed the back pack, handing it back as she also grabbed the large shoulder bag before once again standing. She leaned forward as Cathy released her grip on her neck and shoulders to put the pack on. The weight shifted again, then settled.
"All set."
Checking the arrow once again, cursing that it was not sending them down the road, Heather began another day's work.