Free A Solitary Journey by Tony Shillitoe Page B

share their stories, not just of the barbarian attack but of their lives, and it reminded her of how her family often spent evenings telling stories. But did she have a family? Where were they? Cold horror flowed through her veins, remembering the corpses she buried before leaving the village. Who were they? Her family? Is that why she felt so much sorrow when she buried them? Why couldn’t she remember anyone? Who was Emma?
    After people settled into their sleeping spaces against trees and under bushes, some spreading sheets of cloth for shelter or to lie upon, and Magpie was curled asleep beside Eager, Meg crept out of the camp. Everyone needed water so she would find it for them. She checked the position of the full moon between the trees against the camp as she climbed a rise. No, she imagined a voice inside her head saying, that won’t work. The moon moves. Use the stars. Use the Great Star. It stays constant in the sky and points the way to the west. She knew that. Someone taught her this when she was a child—her father. His name was Jon. That explained why the name was familiar. It was her father’s name. She looked for the bright star in the west and pinpointed its position in relation to the camp before she descended into the shallow forest valley.
    Using the Great Star as reference, she climbed and descended hills, pushing through the thicker vegetation on her quest for water. At times the moon’s brilliance vanished under the forest’s canopy, but she never felt lost in the dark and by the time the moon was at its zenith she found a meandering stream in a shallow valley. Startled nocturnal creatures shifted through the surrounding undergrowth, too quick for her to identify. She knelt to drink, the liquid chill thrilling her lips and cheek, and refilled her makeshift waterbag before she checked her position against the Great Star to begin her return journey. Because she reached the stream circuitously, by her estimation, she took a directly westward route towards the camp.
    As she crested a hill and began to descend she spotted firelight through the trees. She stopped. She couldn’t be more than halfway back to camp and no one was meant to light a fire. Warily she crept closer. The campfire was small, but she counted fifteen men around it—some standing, some seated, some lying as if asleep. Two standing men were talking quietly in an alien language, although as she concentrated and her spine tingled the words took meaning. They were discussing a man named King Future and another called King Ironfist and how King Ironfist was planning to take over King Future’s kingdom. ‘Give him time,’ the broad-shouldered man said. ‘He’s never done us wrong in the past, has he?’ His companion grunted agreement. ‘Then let’s do our job and we’ll get our rewards.’
    A cracking twig startled her. A shadow moved to her left. Terrified, she bolted from her hiding place to be hit from the side by something heavy that drove her to the ground. She struggled and kicked and screamed and a fist smashed against the side of her face. Hands held her legs and a weight pressed down on them. As other hands grasped her arms another weight dropped on herchest, knocking the breath from her. She gasped, fighting to breathe, her face smarting from the blow, and willed the heavy object from her chest. Her spine tingled and the weight vanished. She tried to kick, but her legs were held. Men were shouting. She willed the hands holding her arms and legs to release her and she was instantly free. She scrambled to her feet, dodging the shadows of men, although a hand grabbed her tunic and tore it as she pulled free. She ran across the face of the hillside, the moonlight her guide, with men shouting in her wake. When she darted into a dark stand of trees, she glanced back to see the shadows chasing her and ran again into the light on the far side, weaving between the bushes and trees, cutting diagonally up the slope towards higher