Chapter 17 - Across the Knitted Plain

So angry. Her father’s scheming incensed her. Stepfather. Her stepfather’s greed enraged her. He could have helped everyone and instead was going to use it for personal gain. It made her blood boil. She would have thought that alone would keep her warm.

And, as if he couldn’t be worse, there was the other thing. She pushed hard against the rear wall, the rage fueling her. She tried to bury it, didn’t want to think about it.

To take away her autonomy, to do that to her! She screamed at the top of her lungs into the open prairie from behind the wagon.

She dropped to the ground. The wagon was stuck, the rear wheel deep in a hole. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get it out. She didn’t have anything to dig the hard ground. Her damp clothes chafed against her joints and rubbed her skin. She had already taken her coat off when she started to try to lift the wagon. The effort made her sweat.

A few hours ago, she had lumbered out of the High Plain’s main gate and left the road, cutting across the fields and open terrain, a vague notion of another Cloister that a-way driving her. She had been thinking about what she had learned from Bob, not paying attention. A jolt and the wagon was stuck. She almost fell off. She tried emptying the wagon, all the contents she could move were scattered about the grass. The big box stayed, unfortunately. Stupid thing wouldn’t even budge.

Despite her best efforts, the wagon refused to move and she couldn’t push it, pull it, lift it, or do anything to it. The horse wasn’t up to the task even with all her help. She hung her head in defeat.

Reaching up with her hand, she used the side of the wagon to stand. She kicked the wagon wheel and pulled out the map.

The map indicated a couple of Cloisters to the north, the would-be direction of her journey. Enclaves for the rich and uncaring is how she thought of them now. The thought of warning them of what was happening crossed her mind. She surprised herself that she couldn’t care less what happened to the inhabitants of the domes but the townspeople around them deserved to know what had happened in Cotillion, and in High Plains. She pulled her marker out and drew a line to the nearest one.

Lysistrata? Lystra! That was the name used back when she and Brewer were hiding, when they had a brief happy time, when... She closed her eyes, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Best not to dwell on it.

The wind whipped through her shirt, and her bare legs, sending shivers into her. Shorts were not cutting it. She looked at the big box in the back of the wagon, the only thing she couldn’t push off. Shivering against the cold, she climbed into the back, now made easier by the back of the wagon being sunk and looked inside her box. Stupid wind. She would have to leave it behind now and take only what she could carry.

Into the box she went.

Another coat and stretchy pants would feel better. She put her farmer’s dress on also. Layers were important. A glance down and she used Brewer’s knife to trim the gingham skirt above her knees so she could move easier. What else was in here? There was one item there that caught her attention. The canister. It lay at the bottom of her box. Her face frowned at the sight of it. She had to do something with the Gaia-forsaken piece of garbage.

Righting it, she grabbed the handles to try to lift it out. It was heavy. Brewer had made it look so easy, carrying it casually with his big, strong arms. Her breath escaped her. Leave it?

It was her dowry, her legacy, the potential key to the future. It scraped on the wall as she tried to push it out of the box. Slowly, it slipped down. Sara sat on the floor of the box and started to cry.

Wiping her eyes and her nose on the sleeve of the coat, she got under the cylinder and heaved it up with all her might. It dropped onto the back of the wagon with a loud thud. She followed.

A blanket on Maggie, another spare blanket sacrificed to make lashings and soon, everything of hers was on the horse. It was distressingly little. Her wedding present was prominent across the back of the horse.

She scrambled up on Maggie. Whew! She wondered how long would she be able to do that. Hopefully, long enough to get to where she needed to end up. A grimace formed when she realized she had no clue where or when that was. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Her stomach felt a little queasy, but otherwise everything else was fine. She got a piece of hardtack out and nibbled on it as Maggie plodded on.

* * *

Near midmorning of the third day, Sara spotted a house. It brought her a sense of relief. The cheese was turning her stomach and she wondered if the inhabitants would trade some of their food for it. She wasn’t picky at the moment. Anything had to be better, anything at all that didn’t cause her insides to revolt. Cautiously, she approached.

A couple of small outbuildings were around the home: a coop, and a rundown shed, probably where they kept the oxygen equipment. Nothing came out of them which was a little worrisome. No chickens, no people, no kids, no nothing. She expected some animals scratching in the yard, chickens at least. Dismounting, she led Maggie toward the house. The house was a small, one-room construction. It looked like it was built of bricks made of dirt and grass. There was a window with open shutters in the wall she was approaching. The curtains fluttered in the wind.

That was odd considering the cold. The door must be on the one of the sides away from her. Considering she didn’t want to scare anyone, she walked to the window, intending to call to the inhabitants.

There was a smell she instantly recognized. She stopped short and began to back away. Maggie whinnied.

“Is someone out there?” A voice, hoarse and sounding like the rustling of dry leaves came from inside.

Sara stared at the rectangle. “I’m just a traveler. I was wondering if you had any provisions to trade.” She held her nose and her ground.

“You can check for yourself. I do have a favor to ask, though.” It was a female voice.

Sara was paralyzed. Uncertainty gripped her. Her heart raced. Her hand went to her belt. “I, I’ll see what I can do.”

The voice inside chuckled. “You can come in. I don’t think I can hurt you. The door’s on the other side.”

Curiosity overcame caution. Sara stepped up to the window. Free hand shaking, she pulled aside the curtain and peered in.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust. On the floor lay a body. She stared at it. There was something wrong with it. Half of it was distorted, flat, at odd angles. She wondered what she was looking at.

An arm went up. The face attached to the body smiled.

* * *

Everything burned in sharp relief, every sod brick outlined, the weave of the curtain material, the feeling of wood underneath her fingertips. It made everything seem unreal. The incredible smell threatened the delicate truce with her sensitive stomach. Sara sat on her hands atop a three-legged stool placed close to the woman where they both could see each other.

Not too close.

Sara found that if she focused on the face, she was okay. Mostly okay. Whenever eyes wandered to the rest of the prone body, they were quickly brought back.

“I am so glad you came in. Sara, right?”

Sara mutely nodded. She was trying very hard.

“I don’t think they left much. You are welcome to whatever is still here. I won’t be needing it.” A slight uptick in the corners of the woman’s mouth appeared.

Sara nodded again and tried to swallow. Just stare at the face.

The woman said, “Are you alright?”

“What... What...”

“What happened? I’ll tell you, but you have promise you’ll do me a favor.”

Sara’s mind was blank. Any reservations from before vanished. “Of course.”

“We were minding our business, scratching out a livin’. It weren’t much, but we weren’t in the towns, beholden to the masters there. We were free of them. My husband and I were blessed by Gaia.”

“Husband?”

The head lifted and tilted toward a corner of the room. By the cupboard was a pile on the dirt floor. There were remnants of clothing on it. The surface crawled and wriggled under a carpet of flies and maggots. Sara quickly looked away.

“They walked in like we weren’t even here. He turned to greet the strangers. There were four of them. They had spears and shields. Except one. He had a small box in his hand.” The woman paused. Her voice quavered when she spoke again.

“He pointed it at Jasper. Jasper melted into that puddle. I screamed and jumped to help him.”

A snicker escaped her mouth. “Guessing I was too fast fer him. He started cussing when I fell down. Said I ruined their fun.” The woman rested the back of her head on the floor.

“They went through the stores. I couldn’t really see what they did. They walked around me, left me alone excepting to laugh at me when I whimpered.”

Sara forced her mouth shut.

“They left a little later. Heard a ruckus outside from the animals. You’re welcome to any of them, too.”

“You are too kind.”

This made the woman smile. “I feel like it’s the least I can do, seeing as I’m gonna ask you a favor. A big one.”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“Now it’s you who is being too kind.”

The woman tried to draw a deep breath in. “I want you to take my son with you. He’s only a baby, so’s I knows it’ll be hard. He’s been crying and crying for a long time. Haven’t heard him today though. He’s on the bed. Could,” the woman choked back tears, “could you find it in your heart to just check on him, let me know how’s he doing before you take him? Please?”

Sara sprang from her seat, knocking the stool over. Frantically, she searched for the bed. It was against the far wall. A few steps and she was there.

Against the wall, on top of a soiled blanket, lay a baby. Sara’s hand reached out, paused, reached out again and touched the cold, stiff form.

“He’s a little dirty, but he’s just sleeping.” Sara straightened, turned and smiled at the woman.

“Oh, thank Gaia!” The tears flowed on the woman’s face, down to the dirt. She closed her eyes. In a voice just above a whisper, she said, “Okay, I lied. I have two favors to ask. Please come closer, I don’t want to wake junior.”

Sara kept the smile on her face. The woman’s good arm beckoned. She kneeled by the woman’s head. The woman reached up. Sara took her hand.

“I know I’m dead. It’s just a matter of time. Now that little Jasper’s taken care of, I can rest. Can you find it in you to help me somehow?”

Sara couldn’t hold back the tears. They fell like rain on the woman’s hand, on the ground, joining the ones already there. She nodded and reached under her skirt with her free hand. A tug and her belt came loose. Holding it out, she pressed the jewel on the handle.

The belt snapped straight. A moire pattern played across the flat, shiny surface. A faint smell of ozone wafted from the blade, the only clean smell in the cabin.

There, what would be between the ribs. She held the sword with her two hands over the deformed chest. She was having trouble seeing. The point wavered over the spot.

A hand reached out and steadied her aim.

“It’s alright. Just need to be strong for a little bit longer.”

Sara haltingly nodded, blinking back tears.

“When this is over, please don’t feel bad about lying to me. I would have done the same for any mother.”

Sara’s mouth quivered. She lowered the point. It went in with no resistance.

The nameless woman closed her eyes and breathed out “Thank you.”

The blade was pulled out. It seemed impossible that there was nothing on it to mark such a deed. It was the nature of the blade. Deactivating it, she placed it back around her waist.

She raced out of the cabin and fell to all fours. The contents of her stomach spilled out on the fields of Gaia.

* * *

Three markers were left behind in the shadow of the sod home. Sara cleaned the baby before putting it into the grave. She dug one big hole with a shovel found in one of the sheds. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold afternoon sun. It took her a while to finish.

A couple of chickens were not impressed with her efforts, refugees from a barnyard massacre. They nonchalantly clucked at her.

A lot of time was spent retching. Her stomach ached with emptiness.

Morning sickness. It’s the worst. Of course, there were extenuating circumstances at the moment.

She didn’t know how, but she would hunt the responsible people down and make them pay. On that spot, she became a defender of the weak and a warrior for the downtrodden. Her head hung down and her shoulders slumped. Tears came unbidden. She wiped them away.

Well, she had things to do. She needed to warn the other towns.

The chickens scratched at the ground. Contemplating the hens, she shook her head. There had been enough death today.

Shovel acquired, Maggie’s nose pointed north.

* * *

Her destination crept up from the plains, like a strange rectangular plant grown from the Before Times. The gray seamless walls grew a gatehouse at the end of the road she had found. The doors were closed in the middle of the day. Not a good sign. Fields lay empty, harvest long complete. A rope hung from the wall off to one side over the dirt.

She pulled the rope. A small inset in the wall opened and the face of an old man appeared.

“Who be you? What brings ya here?”

“I am Sara. Formerly of High Plains. I’ve come to warn you.”

“I cannae let ya in.”

“There’s an army that’s going around, destroying towns, wiping out Cloisters.”

“Be off! We’re not lettin’ anyone in.”

Sara’s mouth puckered. She tilted her head and said, “I need to talk to your See-Oh.”

“Oh, ya do, do ya now? Well, not taking any callers, especially onlies.”

“You’re in danger.”

“Phsst! You’re not in a caravan. Git back ter yer farm! Eater!” The man slammed the little door shut.

Sara’s mouth hung open. She pulled on the rope again. “Hey! Open up! Let me in. I need to talk to your See-Oh.”

“Not here. Go away” were the muffled words.

“What do you mean ‘not here’? Who’s in charge? This is important news.”

“I told ya, we’s don’t want any.”

“Open up.” Sara knocked on the wooden panel.

Something thudded into the ground next to her and Maggie. She looked up in time to see someone duck behind the wall crenelation. A smooth wooden stick a little taller than her head sprouted from the dirt. It was a slight angle, wiggling back and forth.

She wrapped her fingers around it and gave it a tug. A shiny spear tip shaped like a long leaf, longer than her hand, emerged from the dirt next to her.

She was at a loss. She couldn’t figure out what to do. Half a minute passed in silence before she turned the horse around and nudged it with her heels. Back down the road she plodded, a road that less than ten minutes ago, she had traveled going the other way. When she thought she was beyond range of arrows, she stopped and pulled out her map. She leaned the spear, tip up, against the flank of her horse.

Maggie shifted and the spear began to slide. She clutched at it. The map tore.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

The spear landed on the ground.

Sara held the two pieces of the map in her hands.

“Can’t anything go right?”

Tears started to well. She blinked them back and shook her head clear.

Fold map, put in pocket. Turn sideways, slide off horse. Pick up spear, stick it into the ground. Climb back on horse. A bit of good luck now. Having the spear steadied her. Pluck spear from ground.

She was exhausted. Where to go?

An idea occurred. When the spear fell, it pointed in a direction. That was as good as any at this point.

Well, it wasn’t a total waste. She got a decent spear out of it.

“Come on, Maggie.”