Chapter I - Alone

Thunder rumbled in a deep tone from the dark clouds above and Zoe glanced at them in silent pleading to hold off their threatened deluge for a little bit longer. She was crouched down in the same position she had been in two hours ago; still she had been unable to kill a single animal for her supper.

Not that she had not had several opportunities. First, there had been the rabbit, but he was far to quick and easily evaded her thrown knife. Next came the squirrels, but they disappeared with a flick of their bushy tails the moment they saw her. Finally, about half an hour ago, a graceful doe had emerged. Zoe had carefully aimed and thrown her knife with deadly precision…but the doe had shied away from a rustling bush a split second earlier and Zoe’s knife did not even come close.

Her stomach growled loudly, challenging the thunder with its clamoring. Zoe frowned and tried to remain still. You’d think that I’d be better at hunting after a year and a half of living off what I kill, she thought dourly. I wish Wren were here. She could always track anything and shoot it without a second glance. Not to mention she always hit it and the two of us would have been feasting on rabbit long ago.

At the thought of Wren, her sister who was but two years older than herself, Zoe’s heart gave a familiar squeeze of pain. It had been a year and a half since the siblings had departed from their home in Braedoch Forest, but even a mere thought of their separation reopened a wound that never seemed to stop hurting. It feels like it has been a lifetime since I was at Braedoch. Despite the fact that she and her brothers and sisters had often spent their time separate and isolated from each other when they lived under the same roof, she missed the ability to see them whenever she had the inclination or need.

She had taken a lonely road away from the only home she had known for all her eighteen—now nineteen—years. Traveling northwest into the high mountains that flanked the west side of Braedoch, she braved the dangerous High Pass which she had only heard of from people at the village. Only last week she had come down from the mountains for the first time since she had mounted their forbidding heights. She had traveled along their base until she reached the cover of a forest. She had not wished to ride across the rolling, rocky hills that had greeted her upon her descent from the mountains. They were too exposed; there was no place to hide if she needed to.

Now that she had descended from the majestic heights of the mountains, they served as tall, snow-clad sentinels in-between her and her old home. And between me and the rest of my siblings as well. She thought back to the day she left her home; she had purposely not followed any path that she knew her siblings had taken. It would be too painful parting twice with them. Despite her foresight, she still had haunting dreams at night of the farewells she had dealt with a year and a half earlier.

Her thoughts slowly drifted to two of the most familiar faces in the large sibling group: Sam, her beloved twin; and Aiden, the oldest of the nine, a warrior, and the one whose strength and example Zoe had often trusted in.

Despite their guardian’s direct order to them all to not communicate after the departure from Braedoch, only three months has passed before Zoe had received an aerial visitor: Keaton, one of Wren’s Gyr messenger falcons. Wren had sent letters to all the siblings by means of her falcons, and Zoe had penned a reply on the back of the parchment with a stick and some berry juice, telling her older sister that she was well. Since then she had written once to Sam in reply to one of his letters, but had heard from none of her other brothers or sisters.

All of her siblings were unique and every single one of them seemed to have special abilities and strengths, Zoe mused. She herself had never discovered what her strength was. She was not particularly skilled at anything. She could not hunt like Wren, her swordsmanship was definitely lacking compared to Aiden’s, and her woodcarving abilities were next to nothing, unlike her older sister, Daelia or Sam, who breathed life into their sculptures and crafts.

The list could go on. The only reason Zoe was able to participate in anything that required finesse or proficiency was because she had worked for hours to practice it. Since she had accidentally come upon Aiden when he was practicing swordsmanship, back when she was only eight, she had worked with him to better her sword handling skills. She had improved somewhat but would never be able to really rival anybody of talent.

Because of her inadequacies, Zoe had long since resigned herself to the fact that she was not as gifted as her older siblings. Even Sam is better at most things than I am, and he’s ten minutes younger than me, she thought of her twin. Well, at least he can garden. She smiled a little. Sam had cultivated a small garden with numerous plants back at their home. Zoe definitely did not possess the particular touch that green growing things apparently required. She had tried to keep a rosebush, once, only to kill it promptly three days later.

In a subconscious effort to nullify her deficiencies, she had developed an iron-clad determination: despite the fact that everything she attempted was never attained as well as a skilled person would have done it, she still refused to let anything conquer her. Because of her inner willpower, she had persevered and trained with swords for ten years to gain her passable skills. And now, because of the same grit and resolve, she was crouching in the middle of a forest glade in some unknown province of the northwest, trying to hunt.

Of course, being hungry is a pretty good incentive to attempt hunting too, she thought with wry amusement.

The patch of sky above the clearing was steadily becoming gloomier, and she shifted restlessly, waiting. A noise in the trees to her right alerted her that something was approaching. Slowly pulling her hunting knife into position for throwing, she patiently waited for her prey to come into sight.

Finally, it did, and Zoe’s eyes narrowed as she sized up her quarry. It was a large buck, well fleshed out and full of good meat. She would not miss this time. She refused to eat more berries and disgusting dirt-caked roots for supper. They had too often been her last resort on days that her hunting was not successful.

Aiming carefully, she let her knife fly—only to hear a whizzing sound to her left at the same moment and see an arrow embed in the buck’s side directly next to her knife. She remained in the bushes as the buck cavorted violently before slumping over. After a couple more twitches and spasms, he lay still.

Zoe waited, motionless, for the hidden person who fired the arrow to emerge from the trees. A fly buzzed annoyingly around her face but she did not brush it away. Who shot that arrow? She had not seen other people in the few days since she had come out of the mountains.

She wished she had brought her sword with her; despite its rather poor make, it was still a weapon. She had taken her practice blade from home; she had never become accomplished enough to spend real money on a good sword in the village that was a days journey from Braedoch Forest.

At last, a sound came, and a tall man with a dark blue tunic and matching leggings stepped out. His blond hair was secured back with a leather strap, much like Zoe’s own long auburn locks. She studied him warily.

“All right, whoever you are,” he called, glancing around the glade and holding his drawn sword in readiness, “show yourself!”

Zoe hesitated. She had been raised in isolated Braedoch; she had little experience with other people besides her family and Duard, and she disliked strangers. However, she finally rose to her feet and silently stepped out into the clearing. She crossed her arms and lowered her chin, hoping her stance looked somewhat intimidating.

“I am here,” she replied evenly to the man.

He glanced over at her and his brows twitched in barely noticeable surprise. “You threw that knife?” he asked, his stormy gray eyes unreadable.

“It is mine.”

The blond stranger walked a little closer, keeping his sword pointed non-threateningly at the ground. “You are…new to these parts?”

Zoe was not sure how much she should relate to this stranger. “Perhaps,” she replied evasively.

“How did you come here? Do you have a steed?”

“How many questions are you going to ask me?” Zoe challenged. “I do not even know your name.”

She hoped he was suitably taken aback by her blunt query. She did not want him to know about Brac. The less he knows right now, the better, she decided, thinking of her stallion with a trace of worry. Brac was a fine horse and would be a good prize for anybody to steal.

Unfortunately, instead of her question abashing the man, he merely smiled. “I’m sorry. My name is Terrance Grant. We’re not accustomed to meeting strangers here.”

Zoe raised her brows and asked, “We? Who else is with you?” She resisted the urge to glance around the clearing to check for hidden individuals. A prickle of trepidation ran up her spine. One stranger was enough for her to cope with; she did not know how well she could handle any more.

“My companions are camped to the west, about another half mile from here,” Grant explained. “We are traveling northwards.”

Where am I, exactly? What is this place? Zoe kept her face blank to hide her thoughts. A droplet of rain fell from the sky onto her shoulder but she ignored it.

“I see,” she finally replied to the stranger’s answer. “So…does this forest have a name?”

“The forest?” Grant looked a little surprised. “It is called Mairbrac by most. Do you know the country around here very well?”

“No,” Zoe answered reluctantly. She did not like showing her ignorance but knew the conversation would not go anywhere until she disclosed a little more to this man.

“Have you no escort?”

“I do; his name is Brac.” Zoe decided it was not really a lie. Brac was her only companion, and he was male, so he could theoretically be classified as her escort. The raining started coming harder, and she blinked against the droplets that fell on her face. The trees would have offered better protection from the weather, but she could not retreat to their depths until she was rid of this stranger.

“I see. Are you camped far from here?”

Zoe glanced over at the dead buck and longed to be holding her hunting knife. She would feel safer with a weapon. Something about this curious visitor just did not strike her well.

“I don’t think you need to be privy to knowledge of my, ah, our campsite,” she stated, furiously berating herself for the slip of her tongue. “In fact, I should be getting back and since my knife hit the buck first, I claim it.”

To her surprise, the tall man did not dispute her claim on the deer but simply took several steps closer to her.

“Keep your distance,” she ordered him in a hard voice.

He did not slow in his advance toward her, and she noted a hard glitter in his flat gray eyes that told her all was not well. She backed up a step. Just then, he lunged at her. Shocked by his quick leap, she darted to the right, scrambling to grab the knife from the side of the buck. Her fingers closed around it…but then she tripped over a root and sprawled over the ground, losing her grip on its smooth hilt.

A hard blow struck the back of her head and everything began to fade into darkness. Her last thought was, Once again, you were just too slow, Zoe…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Zoe awoke, her head felt like it had been drummed upon with clubs for hours. Her vision was still slightly blurry and she groaned a little as the sunlight stabbed painfully at her half-open eyes.

“She’s awake!” a female voice hissed close by.

“Finally,” a nervous, more girlish tone replied. “I feared they had struck her too hard for her ever to wake.”

A third woman, this one sounding tired and exasperated, said, “You always worry too much, Marissa. She was bound to wake up eventually.”

Zoe attempted to lift herself up onto her elbow, but her head protested and she fell back again. She despised the weak feeling that gripped her but she was unable to do anything about it. “Can I have some water?” she mumbled out, wincing as each word shot bolts of pain through her temples. That blond traitor must have some arm on him to give me a headache like this one, she thought grimly.

“Water? Yes, yes, just a moment,” the girlish voice replied quickly.

A moment later Zoe felt her head being lifted slightly and a cool metal container was pressed to her lips. Stale, lukewarm water splashed into her mouth, but she drank it eagerly anyway. It tasted so good! Her mouth had been as dry as cotton before.

She opened her eyes and squinted against the light, ignoring the pounding headache. She saw a girl with black hair and dark brown eyes peering down at her and a glance to the right and left revealed the other two women who had been speaking.

“Where am I?” Zoe managed. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marissa,” the girl said, her voice sounding too loud to Zoe’s sensitive head. “That’s Rebekka—” she pointed to a woman who looked to be in her early twenties—“and that’s Tryna.” Tryna appeared to be about twenty-eight or –nine and she nodded once at Zoe, her hazel eyes guarded.

Marissa continued going on. “So, what’s your name?”

Zoe decided not to answer that, at least for the time being. “Where am I?”

“Oh, no, she can’t remember,” Marissa said anxiously.

“Stop your fretting, for the last time,” Tryna reprimanded the girl dryly. She looked down at Zoe. “Do you remember what happened before you were brought here?”

“Yes, I can see everything up until I was struck on the head. Wasn’t it raining?”

“There, you see, she’s fine,” Tryna told Marissa. “Now, whatever your name is,” Tryna looked back at Zoe and told her, “yes, it was raining, but you were brought in about an hour ago and the storm has since passed.”

“Oh,” Zoe mumbled.

“You are on the border of Elangsia and Aerilya,” Tyrna continued. “In case you did not figure it out before Grant struck you, you have been kidnapped and are now a slave.”

Slave! The word burned itself clearly into Zoe’s mind, evaporating what fogginess remained.

“What do you mean?” she asked insistently, her eyes opening wider. The pain in her head was now was secondary to this unwelcome news. Suddenly she became aware of the rough feeling of rope around her wrists, and a panicky feeling came over her. I cannot be a slave! I have spent my entire life besides the last year and a half under Duard’s thumb, and now I am forced to become another’s underling! Oh, God, why? She cried out to Deus involuntarily.

She did not usually pray—not like Wren and Sam did—but she still believed in God Almighty, and Christus His Son. Or, at least, she thought she believed. Deus had never shown Himself to her in a tangible way, proving to her His love and care which was supposedly there. But He had never not been there either, to the best of her knowledge.

Rebekka spoke softly from beside Tryna. “You must be from Aerilya as we are, right? The Elangsian’s kidnap us for slaves…don’t you recall?”

Zoe shook her head faintly. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What is Aerilya?”

“You’re not Aerilyan?” Marissa asked in surprise.

“No. I don’t even know what an Aerilyan is,” Zoe said, growing frustrated.

“Where are you from, then?” Tryna asked.

Zoe weighed the risks and decided to share a little with the women. “I’m from Braedoch Forest,” she admitted slowly. “It’s further south and more to the east, on the other side of the Cirthian Mountains. I have come a long way.”

The three women looked speechless. “Braedoch?” Marissa asked finally. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Like I said, it’s far from here.” Zoe pushed herself up into a sitting position with a small wince and some difficulty because of her bound hands, and then hazily glanced around, her long hair still wet and now unbound. Apparently it had fallen out of its leather band at some point during her abduction.

She was in a woodland camp. A number of other women and several children were clumped about fifteen feet to the left; ropes around their wrists tied them together. Zoe noticed a few of them were tied up around their ankles as well. Most of them were sleeping but a few were staring into space blankly, their thoughts obviously elsewhere. On the other side of the camp were several similar groups of men fastened together in the same way. The only difference was that all of the men had ankle bindings. They were loose enough to walk in but tight enough that they would not be able to get anywhere quickly.

About half a dozen unbound men, apparently a few of the slave traders, were pacing the camp and speaking with each other quietly. Zoe did not see the blond man among them but was sure he was lurking somewhere close by. Coward. He won’t even show his face.

She turned to her three silent companions. “Can any of you tell me why I’m here? And, for that matter, where ‘here’ is?”

Marissa and Rebekka both looked at Tryna. “Very well, I’ll explain everything to her,” Tryna told them. She looked back at Zoe, her eyes resigned. “We are on the Elangsian side of the border between the countries of Elangsia and Aerilya. We are only about half a mile from Aerilya…and freedom.”

“If we could just get back there and to a village, we’d be safe,” Marissa added wistfully. Zoe looked at her quietly and tried to gauge the girl’s age. She was probably about fifteen, only four years Zoe’s junior.

“Yes,” Tryna concurred with Marissa. “You see, Elangsia and Aerilya have been at war for the past twelve years. Ever since the beginning of the war, the Elangsians have taken every opportunity provided to claim slaves from the Aerilyan people. They have slave traders patrol the border of the countries and capture us. They usually take women and children, as they are the easiest to subdue, but obviously particular slave drivers have no fear to take men as well.” Tryna glanced pointedly across the camp toward the male prisoners.

“Why don’t you fight back? How do they keep on capturing more of you?” Zoe was indignant. Yes, there was a war raging between the countries, but it was contemptible that slaves were being taken on account of the conflict. It was the men who were doing the fighting, anyway, not the women and children.

“We do fight back,” Tryna exclaimed firmly. “Our king, the good Trystellan Jaegar, has been fighting with honor since the beginning. It is the work of Elangsia’s king, Brastus, which has caused the most trouble. Brastus has no honor. He does not flinch at the thought of stealing away women and children from his enemies and selling them as slaves.”

Zoe hid her anger externally, but inwardly she was enraged. The swine, she thought. Taking children is work for cowards and corrupt men.

Tryna’s voice turned bitter. “My husband and I were riding to meet my sister at her home in one of the more remote villages to the east of Aerilya. My husband fought to protect me, but we were poorly armed and enslaved anyway. We were taken by Terrance Grant, the same man who captured you, and have been here ever since. We stay at camp always, usually sleeping or thinking. They feed us twice, but the food is not so good.”

“At least they cannot be too abusive,” Rebekka put in quietly. “They have to keep us looking our best, or at least un-bruised, so that we will bring a good price at the market.”

Zoe was horrified at the thought. She was a little surprised at the resigned tone the women took on when speaking of being sold. Did it not affect them?

“Aren’t you angry, and rightly so, at your situation?” she asked, her brows raised. “Why don’t we do something?”

Rebekka just shook her head. Silence fell for a moment, and then Tryna added, “At dusk the cursed slavers leave us a few guards and go to find more people to take.”

“They cannot continue stealing people forever,” Zoe reasoned, brushing back a loose lock of her hair. “What will they do when they reach their quota of slaves?”

“Then they take us to Ruma, the capital of Elangsia, and sell us at the slave market.” Tryna’s voice was flat and emotionless.

Zoe shook her head, her dark green eyes deepening to black as her temper boiled. “We must not be sold,” she said tightly. “We will escape.”

Marissa’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you don’t understand. All the slavers have dogs to track those who try to escape. I have heard horrible stories of how runaways are torn to bits by their teeth.” The girl shuddered. “I cannot bear to think of that.”

Rebekka nodded in agreement. The young woman was quite beautiful, despite her golden hair being caked with dirt and several scratches from the forest branches marring her face and arms. “I would not risk it,” she added. “The dogs would be too terrible.”

Zoe looked to Tryna, but the woman bowed her head and did not meet Zoe’s eyes. They would rather reconcile themselves to becoming slaves then attempt an escape, she thought with vexation. She understood why they were hesitant, but still….

She looked down at the thick rope that was tightly wound around her wrists. She frowned. If only Brac were here, I could possibly sneak my sword from out of my pack and saw these ropes off.

“Brac!” she murmured in sudden remembrance. She glanced around the camp, her eyes darting back and forth rapidly, and noticed several horses, but none of them were her proud bay stallion. No, not Brac too, she inwardly moaned.

For the first time since awaking, Zoe felt entirely hopeless. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut as memories flooded back…

“Zoe, c’mere.”

Twelve-year-old Zoe looked up and met Aiden’s blue eyes. “What is it, Aiden?” she asked. She hopped down from the large rock she was sitting on, careful not to put too much pressure on her wrist. Since practice last week, when Aiden accidentally slammed her hand with the flat of the sword, she had been favoring it.

“I have something to show you,” Aiden said. The two of them fell in step, Zoe trying to keep up with her older brother’s long strides. “How’s the wrist?”

“It’s all right,” Zoe shrugged. She didn’t want to admit that it still ached terribly. Aiden looked at her steadily and she finally relented. “We-ll…it does smart a little every once in a while.”

“That’s what I thought,” Aiden replied. They rounded a corner that led to the small stable on their property. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said, his voice suddenly gentle.

Zoe was about to forgive him when all words flew out of her mind. Standing before her was the most beautiful horse she had ever seen. He was a dark bay—brown in the body but with black legs, muzzle, and mane and tail. Her lips parted in astonishment and she looked at Aiden speechlessly.

“He is a two-year-old, ready to tame.” Aiden’s voice was warm as he looked at Zoe. “Have fun with him, Little Firebrand.”

“Oh, Aiden,” Zoe exclaimed, smiling widely at his use of her special nickname. Excitement blazed and lit her eyes. “Thank you! Where did you get him? Does he have a name yet?”

“No, the name is up to you. You can’t know all my secrets, so I won’t say where he came from. He’s a gift for you, an apology for hurting you.” He hesitated. “You are brave to practice sword work with me, Zoe.”

Zoe knew he said that because he usually practiced to get rid of frustration or anger against Duard. Still, she would never give up their practices together. Despite her poor skill, she loved spending time with Aiden.

She turned away from the stallion, who was tied to a post, and hugged Aiden. She loved her older brother so much! “I will call him Brac,” she said decidedly, stepping back from Aiden and smiling at him. “It means ‘free.’ I think it suits him well.”

“Brac it is, then…”

Zoe opened her eyes, fighting the lump in her throat. Come on, Zoe, she told herself. Just get over it. Brac is a strong one. He can care for himself.

Though she knew that was true, she still did not like to think of her beloved horse separated from her. Since her parting from her siblings, Brac had been her one comfort. Now he was gone too. Her gaze slid to the leather pouch that still hung from her belt and she managed to slip her bound hands under its flap. Her fingers touched a smooth, familiar piece of wood, and she drew out a small carving; it was a skillful rendition of a horse galloping wild with its mane and tail blowing in the imaginary breeze. Sam had carved it for her several years before, for her sixteenth birthday. Bittersweet feelings washed over her as she gently replaced the tiny carving to its place in the pouch.

“Can you tell us your name now?” Marissa’s voice broke through Zoe’s troubled thoughts, and she looked up to see the teenager studying her curiously.

“Oh, yeah,” Zoe said wearily. “My name is Zoe.”

“What a lovely name! I always wished my parents had named me something beautiful like Elaine or Rachelle or Zoe. Marissa is just so…plain.”

Zoe smiled faintly. “I think Marissa is a nice name,” she said.

The girl blushed a little beneath her dirt stained cheeks. “Thanks,” she said shyly.

Zoe inched backward until she was leaning against a nearby tree, making sure that she did not pull on any of the other women’s wrist bonds. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the tree. Her mind sifted through many routes of escape, but none of them seemed plausible enough to be pulled off successfully.

Again, she thought of her siblings. She sighed heavily. She could not seem to stop thinking of them, even after more than a year. One of them would have known what to do in circumstances like these. One of them would have thought up an escape plot or seen the loophole that led to freedom. But now, she did not have them to turn to. No one around her was willing to risk aiding her. She was on her own, and she was a slave.

The stark reality of her situation threatened to smother her. Think, Zoe, she told herself grimly. Think hard.