By the time dawn came, Justin still hadn't returned home. Joey waited against the tree, watching the sun rise over the western hills. The encampment had been there for a week, resting up after the unexpected attack from their unpredictable enemy. Idhirans usually didn't come this far north, but their blind trust had cost them a horse and a large portion of their provisions.
Justin knew the way back. He'd been warned not to go far from them, and though they'd only covered a small part of the terrain, there were clear trails visible from where all five of them had lived in the clearing. Justin was a good tracker; he should be able to find them.
But still, it approached morning, and there was no quick smile or laughing apology to explain the many hours he had been missing.
Joey turned at a strong hand on his shoulder. His arms unfolded themselves at Lance's concerned gaze. "There's food ready," Lance said finally, dropping his hand and letting Joey move past him. There was of course nothing to say; the woods were dangerous for any being, and Justin never should have gone out alone.
They'd been making slow progress across the landscape of the Southlands. In addition to attacks that happened with more regularity, they'd had to make repeated stops to refill their rapidly-emptying provisions. There was a minor flood that had halted their progress for two days, until they were able to cross three miles off their course where the water level had receded. They'd made a small side track, too, in the goat-herding town of Carpen, where they'd been compelled to help a family who'd offered them their barn during a rain spell gather their goats from the fields when a mischievous boy had opened the gates.
All this was well and good, but it put them ever farther from their goal. The Great City should have been only a month's travel time from their village at Darmot; they had been traveling for nearly two.
Joey took the plate that was offered to him and settled down on the ground, not looking up from the dried meat and fresh eggs. Chris put a piece of waybread on his plate, patting his knee briskly. Joey knew that Chris was just as worried as he, and this tense silence would accomplish nothing. But Justin was newly of-age, and they'd made many allowances for him to come on this trip. It kept them on edge for any misstep he might make, for both his sake and their own.
And so it was morning, and Lance began to make movements to pack. JC helped him, but Joey did nothing but stand, rooted in the same place he'd occupied the night previous. He rubbed his left bicep unconsciously, calloused fingers trying to feel the five-bar tattoo that was scarred there. Of course he couldn't, the twisting lines leaving no tactile sign. But when he looked down he could see it, a mark of their compact for this journey, and every journey thereafter. It was the last step for Justin, for all of them. Justin became a man, and they became whole after years of waiting.
Chris came up a few feet behind him, did not come closer. "We do not wish to leave him," he stated softly. "But if we are to make the contact date with anything approaching timeliness, we must leave now and ride hard for the next week. This is greater than us, Joe. You know it is. And it might kill us to leave him behind, but that is how it must be if we are to meet this man who says he knows how to protect the people of our village."
Joey knew all this before Chris had come. It changed nothing of how he felt.
"He will catch up," Chris said with a certainty Joey knew he didn't feel. "We've trained him well, and we'll leave markers as we go along the way."
"Do you remember the day Lance left us?" Joey said conversationally. He did not look back to see Chris's nod. "When he returned to the three of us, beaten and bedraggled, wild-eyed with the sense of loss that comes when your brothers are no longer there, we were waylaid for three weeks as he recovered. And we were in no state to care for him either, hanging on by a thread as we fought for the safety of the village." He turned finally, meeting Chris's steady gaze. "I don't want to see that happen to Justin. I can't see that happen to Justin. It almost tore us apart last time, Chris, and this is still too new to test its strength." Joey waved towards Chris's tattoo, identical to his own. "What we might be doing is larger than us, I concede that. But surely what we have worked so hard to acquire and preserve is just as important."
Chris waited a long moment before responding. "True," he said finally. He came to stand next to Joey, their shoulders scant inches apart. "I don't want to lose him, Joe. But I watched my father die from the madness in our village, and I will not let that happen to my mother and sisters. I will not," he said with barely controlled frustration, "allow everything we have to crumble away like the ruins of Aber-fyn."
Joey said nothing, and they both watched the bright horizon for any sign of their friend.
When the packing was complete and the horses loaded, Justin's tied off against JC's, Joey reluctantly mounted himself and turned so that he could get one last look at the direction in which Justin had left that night. Lance gave a slow whistle, the beginning march, and they turned to leave.
Joey began to move as if to leave when he heard a croaked, "Wait." His head whipped around, and there was Justin, torn and ruined, a bruise smarting his right eye. He was holding his chest carefully, and one of his hands carried a bright red wound. Joey nearly fell off his horse in an effort to go to him. He would not have left, not really.
words © SA. characters, show, and people not mine. no infringement is intended.