Chapter V - Flight

The next morning Zoe rose and left her room. The morning was chilly; summer had faded and autumn reigned supreme. She wished for a cloak; she had lost hers earlier that year in the mountains and had had to make do without it since. It had been warm when she lost it, however. Now the bite of the fresh air hinted at the coming cold of winter. Last winter she had weathered in the mountains with only Brac and small campfires to keep her warm. She remembered well the freezing temperatures.

She silently walked down the hallway that led to her room. She had resolved before leaving her quarters that when she talked with Cormac Alstair today, she wouldn’t lose her cool like she had the previous day. After sleeping and regaining her composure, she realized how unraveled she had gotten. Today would be different.

She turned right and entered what looked like a sitting room of sorts. Three chairs were in it, all of them finely made, and a heavy, richly colored carpet covered the wood floor. Despite those articles of furniture, the room was rather bare, but there were still objects of interest that caught her attention immediately. The first thing was a heavily jeweled scabbard that enclosed a sword with an equally decorated hilt. She walked closer and examined it. It looked more like a ceremonial blade than a real weapon, but it was probably usable if needed. She picked it up and hefted it thoughtfully. It was a good weight. She grasped the hilt and pulled a little, revealing the beginning of what looked to be a finely made steel blade.

She pushed the sword back in and set it down on its stand which was atop a small wooden table. She glanced to the right and looked curiously at a small collection of statues that sat on a shelf. It appeared to be a collection of animal figurines. A panther, unicorn, gryphon, and rearing stallion were grouped close together, all of them proud and noble looking. Beside them was a golden vase decorated with silver that was fashioned to look like it was winding around the vessel.

Apparently Alstair was telling the truth, she thought. These do appear to be rare artifacts, which is what he said he sold. She moved closer to pick up the vase, but just before her hand touched it, a voice stopped her.

“You like them?”

She whirled around; upset that she had not heard the two men come up behind them. Cormac had his dark brows raised and a faint smile on his face. Jaedon, Cormac’s enigmatic comrade, also appeared amused. She cleared her throat and answered Cormac’s question. “They seem very fine.”

“The panther is my favorite,” he said quietly, motioning to the figurines. “He looks stealthy and strong.” He looked at them thoughtfully and Zoe took the opportunity to study him.

He was dressed in a light blue tunic with a white undershirt. Both articles of clothing appeared to be made of quality material, but they did not make him look showy. His broad shoulders filled the apparel out nicely and she observed a knife peeking out of his boot. Apparently he was prepared to defend himself if need be.

To her annoyance, she also noticed that he was extremely good looking. He was very tall, at least six feet three, and his longish black hair framed a handsome face that was tan, partially from the summer sun rays and partially because his skin appeared to be a somewhat dark hue anyway. Besides his physical good looks, he exuded a sort of poise and self-assurance that served to enhance his appearance even more.

Zoe shifted uneasily as the silence mounted. She had rather limited experience with men close to her age, outside of Aiden, Taerith, and Arnan, and her observation of Cormac revealed perplexing feelings. She very much disliked being perplexed.

Finally, to her relief, Jaedon spoke. “I trust you slept well?”

“I did,” she replied.

“Are you hungry? We have eggs and ham for breakfast.”

“That does sound good,” she admitted reluctantly after another uncomfortable pause.

Jaedon smiled, and she was taken aback by how much it softened his features. “Good. Cormac made them, which is always dangerous, but I tried them already and they aren’t deadly.”

Cormac laughed. “The poison just hasn’t affected you yet,” he warned. “Notice that I didn’t eat the ham.”

“True.”

Zoe followed the two men, a little confused by their bantering. How can Jaedon joke and laugh with him? She wondered. She did not say anything as Jaedon handed her a plate after they reached the small kitchen. She walked over to the fireplace where a pan of eggs and several slices of ham sat on the stone hearth, away from the flames. She scooped up some of the eggs but avoided the ham. Just in case.

She turned around and sat down at the table awkwardly, fingering the fork she had grabbed off the counter.

“Scared of the ham?” Cormac asked easily.

She glared at him. “I’m not scared of anything,” she replied stubbornly. She stood up, marched back to the hearth and speared a slice of ham with her fork. She brought it back, sat down, and took a big bite of it, glowering at Cormac the whole time. To her annoyance, he just laughed.

“Apparently the ham doesn’t faze her, Cormac,” Jaedon observed.

She disregarded them both and shook the ham off the fork onto her plate. The eggs were delicious and again she was reminded of how long it had been since she’d eaten good meals all the time. The two men fell into conversation beside her, not exactly ignoring her but not including her either. That was fine with her.

She pushed her plate away after she finished and stood to her feet. “I’m going to the back yard,” she told them. She turned to Cormac, her tone laden with sarcasm, and asked, “Any objections?”

He looked back at her, his blue eyes unreadable and replied simply, “No.”

“Fine,” she said flippantly, and hurried from the room.

That could have gone better, she thought with frustration. What is it about him that makes me so mad? I hate that I am so undone and he is so calm. She walked to the back of the house and exited into the open air. Think lucidly Zoe, she ordered herself. You’ve got to stay calm.

She smiled grimly as she walked into the large fenced backyard. Aiden had not called her ‘Little Firebrand’ for no reason. She knew she was stubborn and liable to get angry fast. It had been her nature to do that for her whole life. Still, she could not help but wish that for once she could get a grip on her emotions. She did not like how well the merchant inside could get her riled without appearing to even try.

She began to pace the yard, kicking some fallen leaves as she walked and changing her line of thought. “If I could get at that sword artifact in the sitting room,” she mumbled, “at least I’d have a weapon if I tried escaping. With a little stealth, I could make it out of the house. It wouldn’t be too hard to get a horse and other necessities if I sold the artifact.” She had already deduced it was worth quite a sum of money; the jewels embedded on the hilt would alone bring in much gold.

She took a deep breath of the crisp air. But you have to plan it rationally, she told herself sternly. She knew it was hopeless without reasonable preparation. Cormac was no idiot. She had made it obvious to him that she would run the moment she had a chance but she had a feeling he would not let her get away easily.

A rare feeling of despair rose up in her. How was she going to escape this place? It was clearly preposterous not to try escaping, but the actual process of leaving this great city would be very difficult. She did not want to face the alternative that loomed, the result if she remained passive and did not try to leave. I would be a slave forever.

A flicker of motion in her peripheral sight caught her attention, distracting her from her dispiriting thoughts. She glanced to the right and scanned the topmost branches of a tall, graceful oak tree that stood there. Another flash of movement drew her eye, and her heart jumped when she saw the falcon perched on a high limb. No…it can’t be. Is it?

She walked closer. Cormac was inside the house with Jaedon. She did not think they were paying her any heed. Still, she took care to act nonchalant as she moved toward the oak. When she stood at very edge of the fenced yard, she called softly up to the falcon. “Iolani. Come, Iolani.”

The falcon’s head twitched and the elegant white bird eyed her keenly. Zoe tentatively beckoned to the bird but did not offer her forearm as a resting place for her. She knew the falcon’s sharp talons would slice her arm to the bone. The bird ruffled her feathers and then spread her wings and swooped down, landing on the ground nearby. Zoe glanced around, hoping nobody was watching her. She didn’t see anybody, so she crouched down and whispered, “Iolani, it is you! Come here, let me see the message you have.”

She had recognized the bird correctly as Iolani, one of Wren’s Gyr falcons. Iolani was the same bird that had carried a message from Sam to Zoe several months earlier. Zoe had sent back a reply, and apparently, Sam was answering that missive. Zoe carefully took the message from the small leather pouch attached to the bird’s leg. “Thanks,” she whispered as she hurried to unroll it. Sure enough, Sam’s distinctive scrawl was on the piece of parchment.

Dear Zoe,

It makes me feel sick to think of you out there so far away, struggling just to find food.

She smiled a little. Her last missive had mentioned her poor hunting skills. It was like Sam to pick up on her frustrations.

I'm beginning to hate Duard for what he's done to us. Things would have been so different if none of this ever happened…

Her heart began palpitating faster than normal as she scanned the remainder of the letter. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong. Sam was the cheerful twin; the one who calmed Zoe when she was angry. As she continued reading his increasingly cheerless missive, she knew that something was not right with him. Sam did not actually write anything specific about being in a quandary, but she knew him better than anyone did, and the closing paragraph to his letter confirmed her fears:

Zoe, I want you to know that you are the best sister anybody could wish for. I've always admired—no, been envious of—your courage and spunk. I wish I was there with you now, but somehow I know Deus will keep you safe and protect you. I love you. If you ever see our other siblings, please let them know I love them, too.

Yours eternally,
Sam

She stood abruptly to her feet and ran a hand through her long hair. Frustration and helplessness engulfed her, causing her to feel almost claustrophobic at the ferocious onslaught of emotion. Sam, where are you? What is wrong? She looked at the letter, and fear—real, tangible fear—gripped her with icy cold fingers. Why do I feel like you are saying goodbye to me?

“No!” She exclaimed fiercely under her breath. Nothing can happen to my twin! Hot boiling anger rose as she thought for the thousandth time of the banishment that separated all the siblings. If it weren’t for Duard, I could be with Sam, helping him, she thought angrily.

“Why did he separate us? And Deus, why did You let this happen?” She felt almost afraid as she stared up at the sky. Who was she to dare challenge God? She half-expected to be struck down for her bold words. Nothing happened however, and she walked back to Iolani, who eyed her coolly. “I have to reply to him,” she muttered the bird.

Yes, you must write, she thought, but how? She had no writing utensils. She had not bothered to pack any, thinking them useless. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She glanced back at the house and her brow furrowed. Without another words, she hurried toward it, shoving Sam’s letter into her belt. The absence of her pouch with the carving of Brac from Sam only heightened the feeling of urgency that was upon her.

She entered the house and walked quietly to the sitting room. She had seen a stack of parchment in there along with a fine selection of quills and a bottle of ink when she had walked in there earlier that morning.

Good. The supplies were still there. Hurrying forward, she glanced around but did not see Jaedon or Cormac. She would have to write quickly. Zoe sat down, uncorked the ink well, and dipped the quill in. She lowered it to a piece of parchment and started writing.

Sam,

Don’t give up, my Twin. I don’t know what is wrong or where you are, but you must not give up. If you do, Duard will have ultimately succeeded, by breaking our spirits. You are strong, Sam, in ways you do not know. Don’t give in to fear. I know that you will be all right. You must be all right.

I love you.

She quickly blotted the page and blew on it to dry the ink. She folded and rolled it, noticing with a sort of vague alarm that her fingers were trembling a little. She hurried out of the house, wondering where Cormac and Jaedon were but glad they were not in her path. She was almost running as she went back to Iolani but slowed as she neared the waiting bird. After calming her by speaking her name, she attached the note back to her leg.

“Go now,” she said quietly. “Go to Sam. Bear the message safely. And bring me back more news soon!”

The bird’s powerful wings flapped and she took off from the ground, flying low through the over the fence. Zoe followed her with her eyes until she shot up through an opening between the oak tree and a tall house, disappearing out of her sight into the wide, free sky. Fly, Iolani, she silently urged. Fly hard back to Sam. He is in danger but still took the time to write me. He was brave. I can be brave too and face my own dangers.

A sort of calm decision fell over her like a mantle. Tonight, she decided firmly. Tonight I will escape. Duard separated us; Grant sold me; Cormac holds me against my will. But I will not allow any of them to ultimately triumph over me.

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

It was completely dark when Zoe slipped out of her room in the very early morning hours. She crept through the blackness in the hallway toward the sitting room. Once she reached the door to the room, she moved a little easier because there was a large window that the moonlight shone through, illuminating the room in a soft glow. The moon was exceptionally bright; the sword artifact was bathed in the pale light at the far end of the room.

Zoe moved silent toward it, her leather boots masking the sound of her footsteps. She quietly picked up the sword and scabbard and listened intently for any movement in the rest of the house. She heard nothing, so she attached the scabbard to her belt. It was out of the way there, though she would have preferred using her baldric, which was a wide leather strap that crossed over her body and held a sword on her back. It was easy to draw a sword from that position and she was more used it. But, until she was out of the house and free, she did not much care where the sword was, so long as it was attached to her.

She had spent the day walking all over the house and discovering the best way to leave it. She had finally decided that the quietest way was out the back door and over the fence that enclosed the yard. The front door, which would technically be the quickest way out of the house, was bolted with a heavy lock that made too much noise to be opened without detection.

She left the sitting room and padded toward the back door. She slowly turned the knob and eased the door open just far enough for her to slip out. She held her breath and closed it behind her. She waited for a tense moment, listening intently for somebody following her.

Hearing nothing, she moved quickly toward the fence. She paused again at the edge of the yard, eying the fence. She would have to grab the top and pull herself over, for it was high and had no footholds. She smiled slightly, thinking, This shouldn’t be hard, leaving the house was almost too easy, when the smooth sound of a sword being drawn came to her ears. Without a pause, she whirled around, drawing the sword at her side.

Her blade connected with another, and she blindly fell into a practiced set of sword maneuvers that her muscles recalled from her practices with Aiden. Left high, strike low on the right, parry, and left again!

She paused, panting a little, as the blades locked and she stared into Cormac Alstair’s blue eyes. They assessed her coolly and he said, “Swift reaction, but your moves are too practiced, therefore making them predictable.” Without another word, he twisted his sword and Zoe gasped as hers flew away to land in the grass with a soft thump and crunch of displaced leaves.

She looked back at him, glowering. He lowered his blade but still met her gaze challengingly. “Care to explain what you’re doing with my merchandise, Zoe?” His use of her name struck her as more mocking than anything else.

“I’m testing an artifact to make sure it’s worth all that you must be asking for it,” she replied sarcastically. He knew why she was here; he was just being irksome by asking her stupid questions.

He smiled cynically. “How kind of you. Now that you’ve discovered its value, why don’t you hand it over and come into the house.”

The bitterness of her failure was beginning to sink in. He thinks he’s so smart because he caught me, she thought. How did he know I was leaving? I heard no one! Somehow the fact that she had not heard him following her disturbed her more than anything. She looked at him resentfully.

“I can’t hand it to you since you threw it across the yard, out of my reach. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to go inside.”

“You have to.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Really?” Zoe suddenly regretted her words as his eyes turned stormy. Before she could think to move, he had sheathed his sword, stepped forward, and picked her up, carrying her back to the house over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

For a moment, she was too shocked to do anything. Then she began to struggle. “Put me down!” She exclaimed angrily. “I’m not chattel to be moved by force!”

He ignored her, carried her inside, and set her down on her feet. She pulled back her fist and it shot toward his midsection, but he blocked it with seeming ease and grabbed her wrist as it flew toward him. She grunted and tried to hit him with her other hand, but he stopped that one too. She stood mere inches from him, both her wrists captured in his, her eyes spitting fire. “Unhand me!”

“Why? I know if I do you will merely try to punch me again,” he pointed out. He gave her a tight smile and asked, “Did you actually think I’d let you escape? After I saw that falcon visit this morning, I knew you’d run tonight.”

She breathed quickly; so furious she hardly knew what to say. Deus, why is he of all people able to read me so well? It was frustrating! She was so upset that her mind hardly even registered her cry to God. “Let me go,” she demanded again, “…please.”

He searched her eyes for a long moment, and she stared back with all the defiance she could muster. He finally released her and she quickly stepped back. “You should be grateful,” he said, eying her thoughtfully, “that you are not the slave of a different man.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.”

Yes, she did know. She realized that if Cormac wanted, he could beat her, assault her, or even kill her if he so chose. If she had been sold to a different man, she may have already been subjected to one of those things. But at the moment, she did not care to deal with the truth in his statement. “I would be grateful for my freedom,” she replied, “Not for the fact that I am enslaved to a self-proclaimed lenient man rather than an abusive one.”

Cormac looked over her head into the dark hallway behind her, and she quickly turned around. Jaedon stood there, his clothing rumpled from sleep but his expression alert. “What is going on, Cormac?” he asked.

“Just a little trouble,” Cormac said. “It has been taken care of.”

That’s what you think, Zoe thought quickly. This is not over.

“Would you escort Zoe to her room, Jaedon?” Cormac’s voice left no room for argument.

Jaedon nodded. “This way, miss,” he said quietly, motioning to her.

She looked over her shoulder at Cormac, but he merely raised an eyebrow at her, his face unreadable. Lifting her chin, she matched his emotionless expression and turned back toward Jaedon, following the man down the hall, back to her room.

She thought about Cormac’s unruffled attitude and frowned. Very well, Cormac Alstair, she thought as she watched Jaedon close the door securely after her. You may be able to best me in strength and swordsmanship, but I am determined that you will never beat my wits. If that means that I have to out-calm you, then so be it.