The Valley: Sahra's Quest

By Elizabeth Martin

A ring of high mountains insulates the citizens from the devastation of the outside world. They must contend with the renegades who threaten the caravans that travel through the Valley. Sahra is a traveling medical practitioner with special talents that enable her to sense when trouble is approaching. When her beloved uncle and protector, Jacob, is killed by one of the bandits her talents seem to grow and develop as she fights to help the protectors keep the Valley safe. Hogan, Supreme Protector, joins with her to rid the Valley of this menace. Sahras quest is to find someone with her silver hair and eyes and her special ability, needing to know her heritage. When she finds a young girl with similar coloring and some of her talents she is no nearer learning the truth than before. Will she ever find the knowledge she seeks?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491710333

Elizabeth Martin

Elizabeth Martin, a retired registered nurse, was born in Scotland and now lives in Casper, Wyoming. She has three grown children and five grandchildren, also grown, and two great grandchildren. She spends her time writing in various genres. This is her fifth book and her second romance. Her trilogy, The Valley, Sahra's Quest, Monahan's Purpose, and The World Outside are all in paperback. Her first Romance, a collection of novellas called Four Women, Four Tales is also in paperback and all are eBooks. She has two children's eBooks about Michael and his adventures. Martin is a member of a prolific writers' group who are fiction and nonfiction writers, poets and anecdotists, all friends and all stimulating and encouraging to her.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

F ifty feet ahead the road disappeared into a gray mist of driving rain and sleet. All around her the world was similarly obscured. The relentless, penetrating cold seeped through the heavy buffalo hide coat that had once belonged to her beloved Stephen. Fur-lined boots no longer protected her feet from the icy water that rushed along in runnels and collected in puddles on the rough surface of the dirt track. The heavy, disembodied lumps inside her thick, hide-covered mittens had once been her fingers.

Her disjointed thoughts triggered a lucid recognition of the beginning symptoms of hypothermia, and she resisted the temptation to huddle beneath the tangled undergrowth that would have afforded at least the minimum of cover. The lofty pines dominating the steep slopes gave no shelter, their scanty branches lost high above in the mist.

She pushed away from the rough bark of the tree then stiffened as another contraction rolled over her swollen abdomen. An agonized moan was torn from her throat and her breath whistled through compressed lips as her outstretched hand sought the stability of the tree trunk.

It was difficult to control her pain when control of her body had long since been lost to her. No feeling in any of her limbs, her face numb beneath the sodden woolen scarf that covered it, the deathly chill of freezing rain plastering her hair into a silvery cap against her uncovered head. The only part of her with any feeling now was that part sheltering her unborn child, even as the rest of her died, piece by piece.

Grateful for the pain that gave her impetus, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t far now. This close she could sense the presence of living beings, feel their warmth. Stephen had been taking her home to this Valley, where, he told her, they would find freedom to love each other as they wanted to.

It seemed now, as her journey’s end grew nearer, the more difficult it was to draw the moisture-laden oxygen into her lungs, the heavier each foot became, the harder it was to focus her eyes through the slanting curtain of sleet.

Suddenly, a formless figure loomed before her. Her bleary eyes saw the cloak-draped form, focused on the arms outstretched to catch her as she fell. She knew him without ever having met him. Stephen’s brother. Her pulse faltered for a heart-beat and a roiling, agonizing pain awoke her body to its final duty.

Jacob. I Am Mahra. This is Stephen’s child. Take care of our child, Jacob. Her plea fragmented into gasps, her eyes drifted shut, and she sank into a void of nothingness that freed her from unrelenting pain, and never-ending grief.

CHAPTER ONE

S ahra eased her foot on the brake to bring her little runabout to a stop behind the line of assorted vehicles in front of the gate and got out to lean against the car. She was enjoying the early sunlight just beginning to warm the morning air when a sudden burst of gunfire shattered the morning calm.

Shaken rudely out of her abstraction Sahra ducked instinctively. The rush of a bullet whizzing close by her ear and the ping and whine of a ricochet had her diving forward out of the line of fire and landing full-length in a snow bank behind the shelter of the gate house wall. Carefully, she peered around the corner to see that the crowd of pedestrians by the smaller gate had dropped as a unit to the frosty ground.

For a second, she rested her cheek against the icy surface of the wall and closed her eyes. Now what?

There was a clink of metal against stone as her gloved hand hit the wall. Her small gun was already tucked into her hand. The weight in her palm was comforting. Her heart might deplore these incidents, but her mind was always ready to deal with the unexpected.

Strange, though, that she hadn’t had a premonition about this. Usually her peculiar ability (what Jacob called a sixth sense) alerted her to danger ahead. Perhaps because it hadn’t been aimed directly at her, she hadn’t been forewarned.

Cautiously, she gave another peek around the corner. One guard, holding what looked like an identification wallet in one hand and his gun in the other, was standing over an unmoving body. His partner held the standard issue handgun menacingly at his waist as he approached the van parked at the front of the line. Just as he reached the door, it burst open, knocking him off balance and a figure wearing the green, boot-length coat that was part of a protector’s summer uniform dived into the road.

The outlaw brought up his hand-gun and aimed at the guard. Before he could fire, Sahra, with both hands holding her gun steady, sprang forward and fired just as Jacob had taught her. The man let out a yell of pain as he lurched sideways, clutching his shoulder. His gun went flying.

Sahra moved swiftly toward him, the gun still pointed forward. The man took off into the midst of the still-prone crowd which was not about to tolerate outlaws or thieves. He was brought down quickly and hauled back on his feet, a prisoner of four angry travelers. The young guard sprang lightly on to the hood of the van, and leaping to the roof for a clearer view, gestured to the gate house. To the accompaniment of cheers, jeers and curses from the crowd, the outlaw was roughly manhandled up to the stairs into the gate house, unmindful of his injured shoulder. The guard took over, hauling the man up the set of stone steps that led up to a platform surrounding the small, glass-walled room that topped the gate house base. Sahra ran lightly up after them. There were two doors to the room. She pushed open the one, just as the Captain of the Guard came through the other, entering from the Hub square with four protectors. The guard handed him the phony identification wallet. It’s out of date, Captain. The format’s from last month.

The captain gave it a cursory glance, smiled at the guard and said, Smart work, trooper, then acknowledged Sahra’s presence with a smile and a finger raised to his hat in salute.

Lady Sahra. He bowed courteously. Are you joining the caravan today? You saw what happened here?

She nodded. I imagine these men had hopes of joining the caravan, too.

There may be more. I’ll alert the Protectors. He turned back to the guard whose face, Sahra noticed, was pale. Still in his teens, she thought. They came into the Protector program young and untried and left trained and experienced, fighting for what was theirs, protecting all they had against the undesirables—the looters, outlaws, renegades—that infested the Valley. Today, however, because of the young guard’s sharp eyes, the caravan was safe from at least two infiltrators.

Captain Tey was questioning the young man. Did you let anybody through the gate after this incident? The guard shook his head. Was the gate locked?

Yes, Sir.

What about the pedestrian gate?

It’s still unmanned, Sir. Hasn’t been unlocked yet.

The captain frowned. What happened to the assigned guard?

Even standing at attention the young guard managed an eloquent shrug. Hasn’t shown up yet, Sir.

With his brow still creased in thought, the captain gestured to his men. Two of them loaded the dead bandit into their vehicle inside the gate, another took charge of the live one and the fourth, following the Captain’s order to check out the abandoned vehicle, took a look inside.

They were wearing green uniforms, Sahra observed to the Captain, Somebody slipped up, since you’re still in white.

Yeah! He grinned. We won’t switch until the last of the snow." He removed the wide-brimmed hat from his head to smooth an unruly lock of hair from his forehead, reminding Sahra of his nickname, Curly, before his promotion had gained him the title of Captain. He settled his hat firmly back on his dark curls, commended the young guards on their vigilance, delegated one of his soldiers to man the pedestrian gate, touched his brim to Sahra, and left the gate house.

Ma’am?

Sahra turned. The youthful guard was holding out a diffident hand for her identification wallet.

She didn’t blame him for not trusting anyone. Unfastening her boot-length, buffalo-hide coat, she took a small leather wallet from an inside pocket and handed it him. He glanced at the picture and scanned her face, comparing the two. Her unique silver eyes gazed straight at him. She removed her wide-brimmed hat, shaking free her long silver braid. Her open coat revealed her blue uniform with her name and the Medical Practitioner’s emblem embroidered on the left breast.

It’s really me, trooper.

Yes, Ma’am, sorry. He scrambled to open the door for her.

Don’t be. You did a good job today, said Sahra with a smile.

Color rose in his cheeks as he escorted her outside to her vehicle, reached for the handle and opened the door for her.

Thank you. Sahra waited in line until it was her turn to pass through the gate. She waved as both troopers touched their hats in salute. Driving into the busy courtyard, she slowed down as a vendor pushed his hand cart across the track in front of her.

Rolling down her window she took a deep breath of the crisp air and scanned the throng, gazing at faces in the crowd as she always did. She was hardly even aware of searching until the familiar weight of disappointment settled heavily in her stomach. Her gloved fingers clenched into her palm and she sighed, her breath forming a white mist in the air in front of her.

Feeling the now familiar irritation with herself, she drove at a snail’s pace through the congested square. Not only did this obsession to find another being with her unique coloring dominate most of her waking moments but now it seemed to be taking over her subconscious.

The City Hall and square, known as the Hub, bustled with the usual Monday morning chaos. Supply transports lined up behind the pilot truck which would lead them in convoy across the mountains to the settlement of Whitewater. Groups of protectors, distinctive in their wide-brimmed white hats and long white buffalo-hide coats, stood warming their hands on cups of hot brew.

Sahra presumed they had been warned of the terrorists’ attempt to break through security. It was hard to tell for they always had a watchful air about them. Their job had already begun. Protecting the caravan, being prepared to defend it with the speed of an indrawn breath against ambushes by Monahan’s terrorists—being prepared to die, if necessary—were all part of the job.

Despite the early hour of the March morning the last fall of snow was melting. The heavy traffic churned the surface of the square into a greasy mess, making life difficult for horses, pedestrians and drivers alike. It didn’t stop the vendors, however, from doing a brisk business with travelers from the passenger transports. The comfort wagon was stocking up with good things to eat for the long journey across the mountains.

The frosty air was redolent with the pungent aroma of spicy baked potatoes. Hot pastries and melting cheese, with their own mouth-watering odors, tempted travelers to investigate. Ground buffalo beef patties, served on doughy rolls still warm from the oven, sold as fast as they finished grilling over red-hot coals. Steaming brew, poured into any containers the travelers happened to bring with them, had the added advantage of providing heat for chilled hands as well as warming bellies. A sudden, empty feeling in her stomach reminded Sahra that she had skipped breakfast.

The noise was deafening. Engines roared, people screamed messages to each other, and children shouted and chanted games as they dodged between carts and people. Horns honked and the pilot driver bellowed instructions through an amplifier. Sahra, hearing the pitiful lowing coming from a livestock carrier, wondered if Alexander, the Governor of the Valley, was attempting to increase his herd of cattle at his ranch on the more temperate side of the mountains. Beef made a nice change, though expensive, from the tougher buffalo meat that was the usual fare.

Swerving past a group of protectors she waved a hand in greeting, and they touched their hats in salute. She by-passed the main entrance to the City Hall and parked at the door of the pharmacy wing. After pounding the knocker with a gloved hand she wrapped her arms across her chest against the chill and looked back over the square while she waited to be admitted.

The intense activity, the feverish, last-minute rush to add letters and packages to the mail van, the frantic rounding-up of errant children, all added to the bustle that preceded the caravan’s departure every Monday. Sahra felt her spirits rise. She, as a traveler, was part of all this. And she wouldn’t have had it any other way. While traveling could be hazardous, she had an edge over the others; she had the ability to sense danger in time to avoid it, or prepare for it, with the result that she and Jacob, who was her assigned protector as well as her uncle, made an unbeatable team on the road. The other protectors liked traveling with them, appreciating the edge her gift gave them over would-be attackers.

She looked around for Jacob. She’d thought he would have started loading her medical supplies into the van by now. He was here at the Hub somewhere. That was another facet of this gift of hers. She could sense the presence of those people she cared about from a fair distance away.

The door behind her opened. Sahra turned to grin at her cousin. Morning, Shallindra.

Hi! Shallindra smiled apologetically. Sorry I took so long, she added, standing aside to allow Sahra to enter. I had my hands full working on the last box.

Sahra kicked some mud from her leather boots before entering the laboratory then shed her coat and hat. Tossing her gloves on top of the long work table that ran down the center of the room, she said, It’s time they did something with the surface of the square. Every spring it’s the same. We end up knee-deep in mud.

They can’t afford it. They’re saving up for another wing.

Astonished, Sahra met Shallindra’s amused eyes. Where on earth are they going to put another wing? This place already looks like an overfed spider with too many legs!

Shallindra laughed. There are only six wings, after all. The last I heard, they’re going to build up this time. She jerked a pointing thumb upward. On top of the Antiquities wing.

For more books and artifacts?

Shallindra nodded as she began to pack the last of the drugs carefully into the insulated container. A combination library and workshop. Vincent’s complaining that they’re crowded out on the first floor.

Sahra could find no fault with that. The Valley needed the Antiquities department if it was to continue to grow in knowledge, to progress forward into the future; needed those intrepid souls who volunteered from each graduating class of protectors to be explorers. It was a coveted job, and a dangerous one. Not all of them returned. All who did had stories to tell of destruction, desolation and danger outside the Valley. Most managed to bring back treasures like books, plans and blueprints, and other bits and pieces that were important, or merely curious.

Is Vincent still working on his flying machine? she asked.

She noticed the faint flush color Shallindra’s cheeks as her cousin answered, Yes, I think so. When he’s here. Her tone was faintly exasperated as she continued, He’s always popping off to Whitewater, or Gateway, looking for parts, or craftsmen to help him build his whirler, as he calls it.

Doesn’t he know that the Antiquities Director is supposed to stay put?

Shallindra shrugged. I think he sometimes forgets he’s no longer an explorer. Sahra glanced around the crowded laboratory, the walls lined with shelves that held glass bottles and jars containing pills, powders, liquids and all kinds of pharmaceutical products. Along the wall that was mostly window were plants growing in pots. Shallindra worked very hard testing, looking for ingredients, and manufacturing medications for the patients of the medical practitioners. Shallindra could do with another wing, too, Sahra thought wryly.

Her attention switched back to her cousin’s meticulous fingers at they placed each box of vials carefully amongst the packages of ice that lined the container. The crate was white, marked on the sides and top with a blue circle enclosing a white flower with red center and unfolding petals. It was a symbol of hope, and of growth. It was the symbol of the medical practitioner.

There were three crates for Sahra, replacements for the supplies she’d run out of, drugs that she would need in Whitewater, and a refill of a special, pain-relieving solution that she’d requested for a patient who, without it, would spend his last days in agony.

Well, I still think this building is a mess, she remarked. They need to scrap the whole place and begin again.

How can you say that? Shallindra objected with an amused grin. You must admit it has character.

Ha! Character, and drafts, and terrible plumbing. The Hub was a two-story structure that had started off square, complete with a bell tower and clock, courtesy of the whimsy of some long-ago ancestor. Later, when the original building proved totally inadequate for the phenomenal growth of the settlement, an enclosed corridor had been built around the outside to provide access from the main block to each new addition as it was built. The new wings stuck out like the spokes of an untidy wheel. Each wing had a door at either end, one to the outside, and the other into the wide corridor accessing the main building.

Sahra wandered around the lab, feeling strangely restless. Do you know where Jacob is? she asked. She picked up one of her gloves lying on the long table and absently began to slap it into her palm as she moved toward a window. All she could see was the blank wall of the medical wing next door.

He had to fix something on the van, he said,’ Shallindra answered, concentrating on her task. You were gone early, this morning. Dad said you went to see Esther."

She asked if I would take a message to her grandfather. He’s not expected to last much longer, and she’s still too sick to make the journey.

Sahra told Shallindra of the incident at the gate, and her cousin shook her head in dismay.

Do you think it was another attempt to kidnap you?

Sahra shrugged. Who knows? I didn’t sense anything.

Having lived with her cousin all her life, Sahra still felt that extra nudge of affection at times like these. She thought in pastel colors when she pictured her cousin; gentle blue eyes, soft blonde hair framing a round face, creamy complexion, a pink flush to her cheeks and well-shaped lips. Regular features completed the pretty picture.

It’s so tranquil in here, Shalli.

Shallindra fitted the lid on the container and snapped the clips that secured it. Well, all you have to do is stop traveling and switch to research or administration. You know we could use you here.

Amused, Sahra teased her with, You never know, I might just take you up on that offer, and sooner than you think.

Phooey! Shallindra scoffed. You’d be bored in a week! Their eyes met, and Sahra saw the fondness, the caring. Shallindra understood about the search. The blue eyes drifted absently to her hair, and Sahra knew she marveled at the color, calling it that silver mane of yours. When it was loose it was long and thick, and cascaded down her back in a river of flowing silver. Sahra always braided it when traveling, but couldn’t hide it all under her hat. Her distinctive eyes, too, could not be disguised, the irises a pearly translucent silver, defined by encircling darker rings.

Besides, Shallindra added, picking up the conversation, you wouldn’t see as much of Hogan, if you didn’t take the caravan to Whitewater every so often.

It was Sahra’s turn to blush, wondering, as she often did, that if she was so transparent, why couldn’t Hogan see how she felt? She caught her cousin’s eye and they grinned at each other. Shallindra appeared to think of something and pointed a straight finger at Sahra. And don’t think of settling in Whitewater. I would miss you too much.

Sahra said, You’ll miss both Jacob and me when we leave on our own expedition. Their starting-off point would be Gateway, where Jacob had found Sahra’s mother, and where Sahra had been born and orphaned twenty-five years ago. Have you thought any more about coming with us?

Oh, all the time, Shallindra sighed, and folded her hands together on top of the crate. "But I’m too chicken. I