Distant Lives//Book Two of the Separate Entities Trilogy

Chapter Eight

I awoke the next morning the same way I fell asleep - in Millard's arms and still very tired. Bekhir woke us at the crack of dawn.

"Good morning, syndrigasti!" he shouted, tossing us pieces of rock-hard bread as he weaved between our sleeping rolls. "There will be time for you to sleep when you're dead!"

"That won't be too long from now if this is all you've got," Enoch grumbled sitting up and hitting his piece of bread off a rock, making a sound reminiscent of a wood block.

Bekhir, eternally unoffended by anything Enoch could say, merely mussed up the boy's hair and laughed. "Ah, where's your peculiar spirit?"

"In the wash," the dead-riser replied, a scowl on his face. I couldn't help but laugh a little.

In another ten minutes, we were all ready to head into town. Bekhir was keeping his promise and set everything up so we'd get to the nearest town before the first train left. There wasn't much we could do before our departure aside from eating our bread and waking ourselves up with a splash of cold water to our faces. I made a silent promise to myself to never again take my healthcare products for granted - what I wouldn't have done for at least a hairbrush and toothbrush.

The Gypsies watched us with melancholy expressions. I could barely meet any of their eyes - the sadness found within was overwhelming. They could each read from the heaviness in our steps that the previous night had been our last one of fun, and now we were heading a for a metaphorical executioner's block. Jake tried cheering one of the children up, but we all knew it was no use.

Nine horses and riders were gathered for us, and I felt myself wishing I'd taken up riding when I was younger like my dad had suggested. However, I was terribly afraid of the idea of falling off one and barely made it ten minutes on my first - and last - ride. But things were different now. Not only was horse-back riding the only reasonable option, as a caravan would not be as quick, but I was no longer that scared little girl. I'd nearly died, and I'd faced off against monsters; falling off a horse would be a pinprick compared to the emotional scars I'd gained in the past couple weeks.

We took off at a gallop, barely giving me time to wave one last 'farewell' to the Gypsies who had gathered around to see us off. Bekhir led our group. I gripped tightly to the rider in front of me, wishing we'd at least started off at a walk and slowly gotten faster as we went. It was too late to complain, though. I noticed how Radi, sitting behind his father, was sitting. His back was straight and his arms were at his side. His posture exuded a confidence he clearly did not have the night before. He first right in with the Gypsies. That was where he belonged.

It wasn't until my legs had fallen asleep that we'd slowed to a trot. The forest around us had thinned into a vast expanse of fields and the sun was slowly rising in the east. Before us was a valley, in the middle of which a town was nestled, though it was still a long way off. A path of smoky, white puffs was snaking toward the town. The first train of the day was coming.

Bekhir finally stopped us when we reached the town gates. "This is as far as we can go. Townsfolk don't like us much. You wouldn't want the sort of attention we receive."

I was a little startled at his remark. These people were so kind, but I suppose it made sense - it was only 1940, and there were still prejudices against people such as the Gypsies, and even us peculiars. We dismounted and began our goodbyes.

As we were about to enter the town, Radi nearly leaped from his father's horse and shouted out to us. "Wait! Bring me with you!"

I turned to Millard, but Emma was already talking to him. "I thought you spoke with him."

"I did," Millard replied, as confused as the rest of us.

Radi opened the saddlebag and removed a bag, which he then slung over his shoulder. He was already packed. "I can cook," he began, "and chop wood, and ride horses and tie all kinds of knots!"