Hope Sundered

Keila’s anxious heart threw wild punches against her chest, threatening to burst free with every beat. She and the other survivors had achieved their first goal of reaching the river ahead of their pursuers. They also managed to secure each of their six boats to one another with rope.

Rowing augmented the speed provided by the swift current, and they raced along at a brisk pace. From the back of the rear boat Keila watched the enemy soldiers close the gap, anxious to avenge their comrades and finish their task.

They rushed along through the thick and heavy forest. The bulky, twisted branches of ancient trees extended out over the narrow river, almost touching in the middle from across both banks to create a natural tunnel. Slender shafts of moonlight filtered through the arboreal covering, providing just enough visibility for them to navigate.

Despair closed in on Keila as fast as the Azrahterans, threatening to choke the life from her. How far would the enemy pursue them, and if she and the others somehow managed to escape, where would they go? They had nothing but the garments now clothing them and a handful of weapons. How would they survive?

Problems for later, she thought, if later comes to pass.

The first enemy boat had rendered her missile attack useless, using two dead soldiers as shields, while the second boat had the luxury of hiding in line behind the first. They began their taunts anew as they closed in on their inevitable victory.

Keila had no idea what to do next. There’d been no plan beyond escape. She hadn’t expected to make it out of the lake in the first place. Her mind raced through a variety of options, though most were unrealistic.

An idea took hold as she looked up at the many vines dangling from the overhanging tree limbs. It seemed impossible, but there were no other options, and time was running out.

Consolidating the remaining two quivers into one, she slung it and her bow over her shoulder and worked her way forward. She jumped the short distance to the next vessel in line and the next, until she made her way to the very front of the first boat, encouraging everyone she passed to keep rowing hard and not lose courage.

She scanned the tree cover above, looking for a sturdy vine or low hanging branch within reach as they passed by. Nothing immediate appeared suitable, but she had to act before they were overtaken. A vine too high and a few feet to the right was fast approaching. Not ideal, but she’d only have one shot. If she missed, she and the others would be condemned to death.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

She took a deep steadying breath and braced herself, preparing for the jump. The boat rocked and lurched, its bow narrow and slippery. She feared her best effort would still come up short. The rational voice from within made one last feeble attempt to dissuade her, but the lack of choice silenced it. The vine passed by and she leapt, straining to reach the target.

Her fingers barely wrapped around the end of the sinewy cord, but she held fast and clawed her way up to reach the branch quickly. Every muscle in her back and shoulders screamed as she hoisted herself up to straddle the knotted branch.

Fear held her in place as she waited for the soldiers to pass by underneath, hoping they didn’t see her climb and couldn’t see her now. She didn’t dare move. Her body trembled with fatigue and she couldn’t slow her heavy breathing.

This is insane.

As soon as the two enemy boats passed, she scrambled across the branch and down the trunk, onto the eastern shore. She broke into a hectic sprint, angling a few yards in from the water’s edge and further downstream. She picked her way as fast as she could through the dark underbrush. Within a minute she out-paced both sets of boats. Running a little farther, she found a thick bush nestled below a low hanging branch, about half as thick as she was tall.

She settled into a comfortable position allowing her the best angle. She knew the quick rapids would only afford her a few shots before carrying her targets out of reach. She checked her inventory: nine arrows for thirteen soldiers. Not enough for all, but enough to put the odds in their favor. Each shot had to count.

The first two of the six boats carrying Chastin’s refugees crossed her line of sight. She lifted her bow and nocked an arrow to gauge the angle and distance. She held the bow string taught as two more boats floated past.

Then a horrified scream came from one of the vessels not yet in view. The panic among the other boats spread like fire, compelling them all to cry out in terror. As the last of Chastin’s boats became visible, Keila saw the source of the trouble. The Azrahterans had caught up, and one of the soldiers was attempting to board the now defenseless craft.

She promptly loosed her arrow, her first target now chosen. The bolt plunged into the soldier’s hip, knocking him into the rushing water. He hadn’t even disappeared beneath the river’s surface when a second and third arrow shot out from the bush, each scoring a fatal hit and sending her enemies overboard.

The Chastinites’ screams turned to cheers as they watched their attackers fall one by one, realizing Keila to be the source of their deliverance. She continued firing a steady stream of death, finding a rhythm with her bow.

Her experience hunting at night allowed her to compensate for the poor visibility. The moonlight offered just enough glow off the water to be useful, allowing her to empty half of the first boat. The Azrahterans had nowhere to go, and no shields among them. They couldn’t determine the exact source of the missiles in the dim light as they rushed along. Equipped with swords and spears, they couldn’t even retaliate.

Three of the soldiers were overcome with panic and jumped into the water, flailing against the turbulent current for the western shore. Keila smiled with grim satisfaction at their disarray, despite half her quiver being spent.

She’d bought the refugees some time, but they weren’t safe yet. A new hiding place downstream would maintain her enemy’s confusion. She pulled back from the bank and ran a while, finding a wide tree with a forked trunk overlooking the river. As the Azrahterans passed once more she fired away, channeling her rage and grief into unbreakable concentration until she emptied the first boat.

The second boat abandoned the pursuit, knowing they were next to be slain. The five remaining soldiers paddled for the western bank, seeking cover in the dense underbrush. Keila continued to fire, shooting them in the back as they made the shore, stopping only after the fourth target took her final arrow.

The last soldier made it to the far side of the river and clambered up the mossy bank, disappearing into the forest, not once looking back.

Despite her victory, Keila found no relief. It didn’t matter how many of the wretched invaders she killed. Her home, her father and Lark were gone, and now seventy or so battered survivors were stranded in the wilderness without a plan. Sorrow, fear, and anger assailed her, too much and all at once, to the point of numbness.

She paced the Chastinites for about a mile. At her direction the refugees found an easy place to disembark on the eastern bank. They marched away from the river for another mile before setting up a makeshift camp in a clearing far too small for all of them.

A new day peeked out over the horizon, but Keila knew everyone would need rest from the harrowing events of the past few hours. With Ekard’s help she took a head count, checked for injuries, and assessed their meager supplies. She placed some of the younger women in charge of tending the camp while she and Ekard went in search of wood and food.

The swift Chastin River had carried them far downstream. None of those present had any idea where they were, or where they should go. They were homeless and isolated. The true test of their survival had only just begun.