Blue Gentian: A 'Spies of Kwedregiol' novel

Escape

Two days later and the terrain leveled off before Careful Pass. Salya drove alone that day. Purple shadows were just starting to fall across the open plateau of grass, and she rounded the wagon into the circle as she always did. She let the soft leather reins rest between her fingers, watching the wooly rump of Blackie in front of her.

This was the camp. She and Bren would leave tonight.

The slim trail rounded into a meadow, ended in a collection of low boulders, and then a steep drop. Over the boulders purple mountains silhouetted against the blue sky. Their peaks stood out snowy and white, and they seemed to go on forever into the distance.

Salya unharnessed Blackie from the wagon and led him out to pasture. She stepped on the picket stake to anchor it in the ground. Its round head felt good against the arch of her foot as it gave way and sunk into the earth.

This might be the last time she put a picket stake in the ground. She stroked Blackie's nose and whispered endearments to him. His ears swiveled. She placed her hand on his forehead and felt the goodbye come to the tip of her tongue, but she didn't say it.

She had felt it all day, the strange significance of 'last' that lingered over everything she did. She needed Kwedregiol now, she needed to know.

With a flutter in her stomach, she kissed Mother and Amma goodnight. The blood rushed through her ears, a constant whoosh. She tucked herself under the bunk beside Vadie and listened to their breathing. She studied the way the moonlight came into the wagon, making the green cabinets turn bluish in the silvery light. The pots glinted above the sink; the dishtowel tucked into the handle of the cabinet was an omen, as were the ropes of herbs hanging from the rafters of the bowed roof and the way the water bucket handle tipped slightly forward, but did not fall. She knew that she was leaving, but it seemed impossible to separate herself from her things in this moment, or ever.

She awoke to a tap on her shoulder. She turned, and watched Bren slip outside through the front door. She counted one hundred, and slid out of the bunk herself.

Vadie's hand grasped her arm.

"Where are you going?" Vadie said, fog in her voice.

"I'll be right back," said Salya.

Vadie's hand eased its grip and she turned over. Salya stood, her heart pounding. She breathed, and willed it to slow. Then, she followed Bren outside into the moonlight.

It took her a long time to untie the knot of rope that held the bag of food to the underside of the wagon. Her hands were shaking. Bren hobbled to the front of the wagon and eased open the seat to grab the wool horse blankets beneath. He rolled them up tight and tied the rolls they made to the bottom of the backpack.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," she whispered, "But we had better go anyway."

Two miles from the campsite, the sheer cliffs at the edge of the path subsided and the terrain became hilly. Green grass rose knee high over the rolling hills that stretched away from the cliffs. In the sunlight Salya knew that the meadow would be vibrant with flowers. Tonight they were flat in the darkness. It would get more mountainous again before they managed to get to Kwedregiol, but here they made fast progress.

Bren and Salya broke away from the path and plunged into the hilly grass. The blades were cold as they whipped across Salya's legs. She helped Bren climb down the first embankment, but once they were over the steep part Bren was able to swing himself along the ground with his crutch.

When the sun rose over the hills to their left, they would be in danger of discovery.

The knowledge drove them across the mountains. An owl swooped down into the grasses and then rose again with empty talons. In the bushes, a chorus of crickets began.