Gwaynn stood, still coming, but Nev held up a hand, laughing. “I need to eat.”
“You told me never to use time unless it was to end a fight or run from one,” Gwaynn scolded.
Nev laughed all the more, though he had to bend at the waist as the hunger cramps hit him. “I used it to end the fight; you just blocked the killing blow. No one else could have done such a thing.”
Gwaynn shrugged.
“It’s not natural,” Nev added.
This time Gwaynn laughed. “What is natural?” he asked becoming serious. “Master Jann says that with each decision we make we create a New World. She says life is like the branches of a tree, and we decide where the branches grow. She even suspects that in every decision we face we also create other realities. Each reality is anchored in our decisions. Each different decision means a different reality. She claims that there are an infinite number of realities all marching along next to ours, some are almost indistinguishable from the one we live in, while others may be radically different, depending on the scale of the decisions.”
Nev nodded. “Yes, so Galen has said. Sounds intriguing, does it not.”
“I think I like the idea of a reality where Gwynn is still alive, a reality where I’m still whole,” Gwaynn said, and took a bite from a date.
Nev sat quietly for a moment considering. Yes, it was a very comforting thought. “I think I may have to meet this Master Jann,” he finally said.
Gwaynn smiled again. “You’d like her. Her hair may be bushier than yours.”
Nev nodded again, but uncharacteristically remained somber.
“Don’t become too attached to this place,” he finally said and Gwaynn’s smile dropped from his face. Nev regretted driving it away. Gwaynn smiled so little.
“It may not be good for the people of Lato if we stayed over long,” he added.
Gwaynn sighed, but said nothing, and after a moment ate another date.
ǂ
Tar Navarra rode up the lane to the house. Kronos, his mount, kept to a slow walk and Navarra did nothing to speed him up. Today he was Death, the Black Horseman himself. And death should never hurry. He knew the family would be watching, dreading his arrival and his slow approach would be excruciating. Sergeant Lindsay was waiting out front with the other men; the Fultan’s were all trussed up tight, all on their knees, facing his way. The servants were swinging gently from the large oak tree out front, their hands tied behind their backs. Navarra smile inwardly, as Sergeant Lindsay rode out to meet him.
“He’s gone to Koshka,” the Sergeant informed him. “He spent several nights here then moved on. The middle girl broke just before we hung Murl…the cook.”
“Koshka,” Navarra said slowly, letting the word roll off of his tongue. He rode to the opposite side of the oak and dismounted as if he didn’t have a care. He had never heard of the town, but as he moved slowly down the family’s line he knew he would soon have all the answers. He studied them closely. The little girl watched him with wonder, the middle girl kept her head down and from the look and smell of her; she’d urinated on herself sometime earlier. Navarra crinkled his nose. Thomas likewise had his head down. The only Fultan eyeing him with any life was the eldest daughter, her expression blazing. His heart skipped a beat when he looked into her eyes. She was just as alluring as he remembered, and the fact that she was facing death with courage made her even more so…at least in his eyes.
Navarra stopped before Thomas, who didn’t move. “Koshka?” he whispered to the man.
Thomas raised his head. “Yes, please. He went to Koshka to hide. He is an old man and has no heart for war.”
Navarra cocked his head and then turned to Sergeant Lindsay. “Where is Koshka?”
“Deep to the southwest, along the Scar Mountains, maybe fifty miles south of Manse,” he answered.
“You and the men get started now. Use all speed. If I do not catch up with you before you arrive, you may begin persuading the locals to reveal his whereabouts. I shouldn’t be more than a day behind you, however.” Navarra ordered…his blood suddenly hot in his veins.
“Now?” Lindsay asked, confused.
“Now,” Navarra confirmed, “at once.”
Sergeant Lindsay’s brows creased momentarily, but still he turned and ordered his men to prepare the mounts. Navarra walked over to Kronos and removed the block from the horse’s flanks and began to assemble it not far from the two swinging corpses. He moved slowly, wanting to draw this out. After a few moments Lindsay and the men assembled on horseback near the waiting family. Navarra looked up, nodded and they immediately moved out. The Executioner waited until they were well on their way and completely out of sight, then he turned. Only Samantha and the little girl were watching him. The middle girl…Arabelle he believed her name to be, was crying a bit harder now. Navarra smiled at the little one, and unbelievably, she smiled back at him. He walked slowly over and then behind her. He knelt down on one knee so that his face was directly behind her head. Her little arms were tied tightly behind her back and he watched for a moment as her small, red fingers wiggled about.
“Do you know who Uncle Afton Sath is today?” he whispered reaching out to cup her chin with one hand, and with his other he grabbed a handful of her pretty brown hair.
He felt her shiver. “Umhmm,” she mumbled an affirmative.
“And would you like a sugared biscuit?” he asked very softly.
She giggled.
“Good girl,” he said and with a quick jerk, pushed her chin one way, and pulled her hair in the opposite direction. Her neck snapped easier than he was expecting, and he twisted her face so far around that he was able to watch as her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only whites. Arabelle began to scream as he stood and pulled the little one by the hair. He dropped her at the base of the old oak. She landed with her head at an odd angle to the rest of her body, her white pupil-less eyes still twitching. He would rather have cut her head off, his preferred method of execution, but she was too small for the block. Arabelle, the screaming one however…
He moved in front of her and grabbed her by the hair. Her shrieks grew louder.
Music to my ears, Navarra thought and a small smile flittered across his face. He pulled Arabelle kicking and squirming across the yard. She fought surprisingly hard for such a little thing, and kicked him repeatedly in the shins until he lifted her head and slammed it down hard on the solid wooden block, stunning her. The girl groaned softly as he turned and maneuvered her head into a shallow depression and then he secured it tightly with a strong leather thong. He wrapped another thong quickly around her ankles a few times to hold her legs together and still. Once in place, with her hands tied behind her back, she was completely helpless. Her nose was bleeding slightly as he moved back to Kronos, and with great care unwrapped his axe.