Dark Communion

  chapter nine

  Return to Hillside

  Deetra gave the frothing mount a break on the far side of the bridge. With one arm still around her waist, Alex held a canteen up under her nose.

  “Drink?”

  The antiseptic smell of moonshine hit Deetra’s nose, and she shook her head.

  “Can you get me the water?”

  Alex fished around in the saddlebag. He presented her the water canteen. Deetra took it and gulpled thirstily in the early afternoon sun. Alex slid off the mount and stretched his legs on the dirt road.

  Deetra saluted him with the canteen. “Thanks.”

  Alex nodded and took a sip of his moonshine.

  “Did you really need that?” She asked, and pointed as he took another sip.

  “It’s medicine.”

  “It was hardly worth the risk of going back to your hideout,” Deetra scolded.

  “We needed supplies,” Alex replied.

  Deetra checked the flagstone road behind them that stretched over the bridge and last hill before Hornstall. She tucked her canteen back in the saddlebag and held the flap open for Alex.

  “If it’s medicine, then put it away until one of us is bleeding.”

  Alex held up one finger as he took one last sip. He sucked air through his teeth to cool his tongue. Deetra scowled at him. She didn't want to tend to a drunk for the next day and a half.

  “Just get on.”

  Deetra kicked, and the horse bolted. Alex clutched her waist. The countryside blurred past and the wind howled in her ears. She got few opportunities to ride in her life and none since her escape attempt three years ago. The moment she sat in the saddle, it all came back to her. The power and speed, the wind whipping her short hair until it stung her cheeks; it all felt like freedom.

  Deetra slowed the horse down as a hazy cloud of dust appeared over the next hill. She pulled back on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop and pointed. The horse tugged at the reins as she turned it for Alex to see down the road.

  “What’s that?”

  Alex sighed. “That is at least one more drink.”

  Deetra put her foot over the saddlebag to stop him from reaching for it. “What is it?”

  “First things first.” He pushed Deetra’s foot out of the way and retrieved the canteen again. He passed it up to her.

  “Take a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

  The sun glinted off the metal and into her eyes. She twisted away from it in the saddle. “Why?’

  He wiggled the canteen. “Because you need to relax.”

  The anxious ball in Deetra’s chest agreed with him. She took it and pulled out the cork top. He answered as she tipped it back.

  “It’s an army headed for Hillside.”

  Deetra cut her sip short and choked. Alex reached around her and she handed it to him. She lifted her tunic and wiped sweat from her brow and nose, then coughed into it a few more times before answering in a strained voice.

  “How do you know?”

  “A wagon or a patrol doesn't kick up that much dust. It takes a lot of hoofs on the road to do that.”

  “But why? What are they going to do?”

  “Hillside’s where you and Ayla came from.” Alex took another sip. “And what do you think they’re gonna do?” He dropped it back in the saddlebag.

  Destroy it, Deetra realized - burn it to the ground. Kill the families and ruin the fragile hope. The minotaurs lost nothing by killing scores of innocent people. Hillside Plantation produced less and less each year, withering under constant drought and a general uncaring attitude amongst masters and slaves alike.

  “How could they know what happened in the arena so fast?”

  “No one but us knew where we were going. The cows probably planned to do it all along,” Alex said.

  The dust cloud rose into the air, growing longer with each second. Deetra fixed her feet in the stirrups.

  “We have to get there first.”

  Alex pointed out west, over the rolling countryside. “We will. Just get off the road, and head west to the river.”

  Deetra gave a kick and the horse turned and dashed off the road. “How long do we have?”

  “We’re going to have to move fast. How many slaves?”

  “Just under two hundred,” Deetra shouted over the horse’s thunderous strides.

  Alex whistled. “I never realized Hillside was that big. They still use a bell to call the slaves in, right?”

  “They use it for everything.”

  The horse slowed as they traced a path along the river. Grass gave way to the wooded area that sat at the border of Hillside.

  Alex loosened his grip on Deetra’s hips. “What’s the ring for, ‘everyone gather at the manor’?”

  Deetra scoffed. “That’s not something we have a signal for.” She clucked at her horse, and it picked up to a walk. They passed under the boughs of some trees hanging over the road at the base of the hill.

  His arms wrapped around her waist. “Drop me off at the edge of the field. I’ll head for the manor.”

  “How do you know where the manor is?”

  Alex retrieved the moonshine from the saddlebag as they neared the top of the hill. “Supply runs,” he said, and tapped her on the shoulder. “You head for the slave quarter. Arm as many people as you can with whatever they have. I'll ring in the rest.”

  “That’s if no one turns me in the second they see me.”

  “Is there anyone you trust?”

  Deetra shrugged. She could think of a few, but Brayden, the man who had taken her in after Ayla’s mother died came to mind first. Brayden had taught her to ride, but they had not spoken since her escape attempt three years ago.

  They rode up the hill along the wagon ruts, keeping a vigilant watch. No one tended the barley fields. After three weeks of no rain, they reserved the hottest part of the day for gathering water from the lake beyond the field. The rest of her people would all be at home until the Masters came back out of the Manor to ring the afternoon bell.

  Deetra stopped the horse just below the top of the hill, a few hundred yards from her and Ayla’s former cabin, and the rest of the slave quarter. Now that she’d arrived, the idea of the two of them starting a slave revolt seemed preposterous.

  Alex dismounted. He smacked her on the knee. “Just, don't get killed - all I ask.”

  Deetra scoffed again. He asked her for the only promise she couldn’t make. The right response was to tell him the same, but he couldn't promise it either. She remembered the way he laughed with Ayla at the arena, and met his eyes.

  The horse shimmied, evening out it's footing in the wagon ruts. Deetra patted it on the shoulder, attention still on the rogue. “Why are you doing this?”

  He glanced up the hill and then smirked at her. “In the last six years, I watched the Freemen go from eight men to three. We lived in the sewer, stealing to survive. The name Freemen was a bad joke. Now, that's changing.”

  Deetra swallowed back her jealousy. “Not for Ayla?”

  “I owe her my life,” he said and folded his arms. He dipped his head to the side. “Even if it was her fault I got shot. But without her, the name Freeman would still be a lie.”

  Deetra nodded, satisfied. Alex and the Freemen had saved her, and more importantly, saved Ayla. When Alex told her the story about the arrow back at the hideout, Deetra could see in his eyes that he believed in Ayla and the Goddess. But now she knew he was not in love with either. She touched her fingers to her lips. She could still feel Ayla’s embrace in the Arena.

  Ayla’s arrival marked the moment the Freemen had to put their money where their mouth was. Alex bet everything he had. Deetra needed to do the same. She needed to commit - do or die.

  He turned away and skulked off through a copse of trees at the side of the field. She called to him.

  “Alex.”

  He stopped. “Yeah?”

  “See you in the Abyss.”

  Alex tipped an imagin
ary hat at her, gave her one last smirk, and then stalked off between a pair of trees. At the edge of the field, he vaulted the fence and dropped down low.

  Deetra lost sight of him. The stalks of barley did not even move with him as he made his way, if he cut through them at all.

  Deetra left the horse a few hundred yards back from the road, tied to a sapling. A loose knot insured that once he grew thirsty or hungry enough, he could pull himself free. Heading east, she moved under cover of a mixed patch of pine and oak trees.

  The woods fell farther back from the next line of cabins. Set in a semicircle they hugged a stony field zigzagged with laundry lines. The tradesmen quarters each had its own storage shed offset from the main cabin. In the center of the travel-worn yard, stood a capped communal well with a hand pump.

  Two toddler aged boys with brown hair ran naked out of one of the back doors. A moment later a woman in her late twenties let the door clap behind her as she came out, scolding. She had a bob of blonde hair and eyes that smiled at her little ones even as she yelled.

  It was Brayden’s wife. Deetra had spent a year in their home, and she still didn’t know the woman’s name. Brayden had told Deetra to call her Mam, and he called his wife ‘Dear’. After attempting to run away, taking her lashes, and a full night in the pillory, Mam refused to let Deetra return home.

  The twins ran under the hanging clothes a few feet from the door. One wrapped himself in a dress like a cocoon. The other stood behind a tunic with his legs showing from the knees down.

  Deetra came out of the wood line. Brayden’s wife slid a shirt along the line to get a better view of her. The smile left her eyes. She ducked under the clothesline and scolded her sons.

  “Inside and get dressed. No more games.”

  The dress came off the line as the first one ran giggling into the house. His brother chased after him, equally mad with giggles.

  Other people came out of their houses to tend the lines or pump water as Brayden’s wife walked over to the covered well.

  She waved Deetra over. Deetra dipped under a couple of clotheslines and made her way. The woman spoke first. Her dress had stains from food, dirt, and little hands, but her face and hands were clean. She smelled like sweat.

  “Deetra? What are you doing here? They say you … " She stopped herself.

  Deetra finished for her.

  “Killed Goreskin. Yes.”

  The back door to Brayden’s cabin cracked open and Deetra pointed at the pair of curious faces peeking from behind it. Brayden’s wife turned and put her hands on her hips, washrag in one hand. She shooed them back inside from where she stood, and the door closed again.

  She mopped sweat off her freckled face with a rag. Dropping her hands to her wide hips, she shrugged.

  “They’re troublemakers. I'm just trying to keep the whip off their backs.”

  Deetra took the woman’s hands in her own. “I'm sorry, Mam – what’s your name?”

  She gave Deetra a confused look. “It’s Kimmy,” she said and then checked the back door of her cabin again. “I'm sorry, Deetra. But I can't be seen-”

  Deetra cut her off. “I don't have time to explain. But I need you to find Brayden, now.”

  Kimmy folded her arms, squinting in the high sun.

  “He’s inside. What’s going on?”

  Deetra stepped around her and headed for the cabin. Kimmy chased behind her and grabbed Deetra’s tunic.

  “Deetra wait. If the masters see you -”

  Deetra spun around and knocked Kimmy’s hand away. The woman took a step back in shock. Deetra held up one finger.

  “I'm saving your life, Kimmy. But I'm running out of time, so shut up, smile, and bring me into the cabin. Understood?”

  Kimmy swallowed hard, her face a mix of confusion, fear, and anger. She stormed past Deetra and lifted the clothesline over her head. Deetra followed her through the back door.

  The door opened to a sweltering kitchen, wide enough for one person. Kimmy led her past the brick oven, and into the main room. Too hot for candles or lamps, the only light came from the two open windows in the front wall and the open front door.

  Brayden sat on a wooden armchair next to the window, repairing a bridle in his lap. He pursed his lips and blew his dirty-blonde bangs out of his eyes. Outside the open shutters, the twins chased one another, now dressed in short pants with no shirt.

  Brayden looked up from his work with a smile as Kimmy entered the room. When he saw Deetra, he dropped the bridle to the floor and stood up. He ran a hand through his sweaty dirty-blonde hair and squinted at her.

  “Deetra?”

  Kimmy folded her arms. “I told her we couldn't be seen w-”

  He gave Kimmy a stern nod and she relented with a huff, moving out of the way. Brayden took a cautious step towards Deetra.

  “I thought they took you to Hornstall.”

  Deetra nodded, eyes flooding. Brayden wrapped his thick arms around her. Deetra held on for a moment and then pushed him back, or tried to.

  He let her go and held her out at arm's length. “Kimmy’s right,” he said, and glanced back out the windows to his boys. “You shouldn’t be here. I have two boys. I can't -”

  “This is about your boys. About everybody.”

  Brayden took a step back, ran his hand through his dark brown hair, and folded his arms over his wide chest.

  “Explain.”

  She did, in as few words as possible. Somewhere in the middle, Kimmy left through the front to tend to her boys. Deetra gave him the real story of Goreskin’s death, her trip to Hornstall, finding Ayla, and ended with the arena.

  Brayden’s reaction to Deetra’s story went from horror to anger, to pride, to something else she couldn’t quite read. He took a deep breath as Deetra finished and let it out slow.

  “The tradesmen and house help met yesterday at the well.”

  Deetra gave him a puzzled expression. “For what?”

  The boys yelled outside, Brayden checked the window again. He lowered his voice, as if the walls had ears.

  “A rider arrived at sunset, from Hornstall.”

  Deetra lowered hers too. “What rider?”

  “Older guy, grey hair. Came to tell us there was an army comin'.”

  Deetra didn't know anyone with grey hair among the Freemen or otherwise. Deetra shook her head. “I wish I knew that someone already told you.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I left Ayla at the arena and rode all the way here, for nothing.”

  Brayden shook her by the shoulders. “Not for nothing. To help. Once Deetra the Cow Slayer -”

  “What?”

  Brayden laughed and walked toward the kitchen. “That's what my boys call you, the Cow Slayer. You’re a bit of a local hero.”

  He picked up his pace in front of the brick stove.

  “We couldn't rally much support for a revolt. Once I tell people you escaped, they’ll be more willing. No woman has ever killed a minotaur and lived to tell about it.”

  He went out the back door, ducked under the clothesline, and held it up for Deetra. He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close as they walked through the crabgrass toward the capped well.

  They stopped next to it. He stood in front of Deetra and held her by the shoulders. “You can't be seen. Not yet. Do you understand?”

  Deetra said nothing, but acknowledged his urgent warning with a nod. Brayden hustled over to the well and pushed off the heavy, round, wood cap. It fell to the side with a clunk. Deetra frowned at him as he backed away, half-turned toward the cabins.

  “I'm gonna go get Smith. Look in the well, there’s a platform. I built it for my boys, just in case,” Brayden swallowed and checked Smith’s door behind him. “Will you do that? Just look?”

  Deetra nodded again and Brayden sprinted for Smith’s cabin, ducking and weaving around the clotheslines. He tripped on Smith’s back step and caught himself in the doorway.

  “Smith,” he yelled, a
nd then disappeared into the cabin.

  His flushed face passed by the kitchen window. Deetra headed for the well. She ran and stopped herself with her hands on the stone rim. Six feet down, a wood platform filled the width of the shaft.

  Brayden came back alone, running. “Get in.”

  Deetra spied down it again, then faced him. “Don't cover it.”

  “Okay.” He said, and helped her climb up on the lip.

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  Brayden helped her down onto the platform. The damp air inside of the well cooled Deetra’s skin. He leaned both of his thick, hairy arms on the side of the well and looked down at her.

  “Me and Smith got weapons last night, in case the others were wrong. I'm gonna get some men together. You wait here. If I ain't back by lunch bell, come on out.”

  He made to leave and Deetra remembered she had not told him about Alex.

  “Wait! There’s a man at the manor. His name is Alex. He’s supposed to ring the bell to call everyone to the manor.”

  Brayden nodded. “You did good, Deetra. Real good,” he said, and stood up straight.

  Deetra stood on her tippy toes and curled her fingertips over the warm, coarse lip of the well.

  “Hurry.”

  Brayden nodded and took off. Deetra sat down and waited. She tried to remember the prayer Ayla recited at the arena, but could not recall the exact words. As she waited, the sun changed its position and shone down into the well, heating the back of her neck and hair. Someone used the pump above. Deetra held her breath till they left.

  It happened two more times in quick succession. Doors opened and closed as the lunch hour neared its end. Voices filled the yard above as people lined up at the pump to refill their waterskins and canteens. Deetra pressed her back against the wall closest to the pump, so that anyone inspecting the well-cap might not see her. Brayden’s face appeared, blocking out the sun and startling her.

  He reached down and hoisted her out of the hiding spot. She shaded her eyes with her hand, squinting in the glare of the clear afternoon. Dozens of men stood in silence around the lot behind the cabins, each with a weapon in hand.

  Brayden replaced the lid to the well. The men all stared at her. A man at the front with a leather apron stepped forward and knelt before Deetra. She recognized him as the smith.

  “Is it true, Priestess?”

  Deetra recoiled from the word. The story must have changed as it spread. “I'm not the Priestess. Ayla is.”

  Smith’s brow lowered. “Where is she?”

  “In the Hornstall Arena. She saved me with a group called the Freemen.”

  The lunch bell rang out a frantic rhythm. Alex’s voice carried over the slave quarter. At first, Deetra couldn't make it out, but after the third time, she heard it.

  Fire.

  Brayden looked at her. He wanted her to say something.

  “I need a weapon,” she said, surveying the men for any that might have two. A young man, also bald, stepped out from behind Smith – his son. He handed her a long pole with a barbed metal tip - a homemade fishing spear.

  She took it, testing its weight. She had spearfished at the lake every summer with the boys. She had tried hunting rabbits too, but never got one. Thankfully, minotaurs stood almost eight feet taller and four feet wider than most rabbits.

  She raised her voice over the bell and ruckus of running slaves and slamming doors.

  “The Hornstall garrison is coming. If we can kill the Hillside masters and escape, there are hundreds more of our people waiting to fight at our side in the Hornstall Arena.”

  Smith shook his head. “We had this discussion. The rider said the same thing, and I’ll tell you what I told him. We’ll never get past Hornstall’s walls. We need to head south.”

  “I know a way into the keep.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “Through the sewer.”

  “Why should we trust you? You’re the reason that army is coming here in the first place.”

  Deetra pushed past him and walked through the group, headed for the road. Sun-bleached blonde field hands ran between cabins, calling to one another. They gathered on the road and moved together toward the manor and the ringing bell.

  Deetra paused in the middle of the tradesmen. “Yes, me and Ayla started this. We killed Goreskin, and now a dozen more minotaurs. I didn’t come here to warn you. I came here to tell you the war has begun – whether you wanted it or not. And we can win, with your help.”

  “South!” A man cried out from behind her.

  Deetra turned, but could not figure which of them said it and so raised her voice to all of them. “If you run south, they’ll catch anyone not on a horse before nightfall. Right now, the Garrison is split. If we can make it back to Hornstall before they do, we have a chance at a first real revolt in two hundred years.”

  The men replied with more nods and a few muttered agreements. Brayden joined Deetra in the center. “It’s fight or run, men. What’s it gonna be?”

  The tradesmen answered with a unanimous yell, and pumped their assorted weapons in the air; swords, bills, scythes, pitchforks, fishing spears, and a few with only lit torches.

  “Fight!”

  They fell in line behind Deetra as she lifted her spear and marched for the road. The path to the manor was crowded with people, some running with empty buckets to help with the fire. Deetra sniffed the air for smoke but detected none.

  The bell stopped ringing as Deetra rounded the last bend at the end of the slave quarter. Long narrow pillars supported the manor’s wide soffit that hung over the wood porch. Brayden and his men muscled their way to the front as they arrived at the carriage turnaround.

  The minotaurs stood in a line at the base of the steps, a few more than Deetra’s original estimate of forty. On the porch stood Ayla’s mother’s rapist, Steelhorn. He held Alex in close by the throat, belly to back. His polished horns were filed down to needle-like points, and he wore a grey kilt with red stripes. The fur on his flabby chest had gone grey, narrowing into a line over his sagging stomach.

  The bell-post lay on the wood floor at their feet. The rogue’s nose and lips dripped blood onto his tunic. One hand held the minotaur’s wrist. He waved at Deetra with the other and smirked a silent apology.