Reveille: Book III

By R. H. van de Weert

Cat Winter had hoped the summer camping trip into the ranges would be fun, an adventure, a chance for Joey and Hunter to get to know each other better, might learn to tolerate each other since liking each other was apparently too much to ask and, maybe, Joey could be happy again.

Instead, an earthquake struck while they were exploring a cave system and now, Joey was lost, Hunter was dead and Cat taken prisoner by a gang of stone-cold killers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664107168

R. H. van de Weert

Renee Hapimarika van de Weert is the author of New Zealand Post 2002 Short-listed children’s books ‘The Last Whale’ published in English and as ‘Te Tohora Whakamutanga’ in Te Reo Maori. A jack of many trades, including hill country farmer, agricultural journalist and columnist, creative writing and adult literacy tutor, parliamentary electorate agent and political junky, she has retired to the beach to write full time and is fully immersed in her Speculative Fiction series ‘Reveille’. ‘Reveille – Book I – Resistance’ 2019, ‘Book II – Revenge’ 2020 and ‘Book III – Redemption’ late 2021. She is now researching Book IV – working title Resolution for publication late 2022.

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Copyright © 2021 by R. H. van de Weert.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/22/2021

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

For in those wondrous far off days

The women shall adopt a craze

To dress like men, and trousers wear

And to cut off their locks of hair.

They’ll ride astride with brazen brow

As witches do on broomstick now.

~Mother Shipton~

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REDEMPTION.

THE WOMAN’s TALE

CHAPTER 1

We left Jazz at camp, tied to a tree, with a pile of dog kibble to work through.

Halfway up the hill, I wished someone had tied me to a tree, maybe with a coffee and a muesli bar. I was a mess. Why on earth had I thought, and persuaded Hunter, this was a good idea?

Panting and sweating, I hauled myself up on handy branches and shrubs, scuttled across a shingly slip face that moved under my boots, picked up a splinter, broke a fingernail, and I was well over it when Joey called, There! Look! There’s the cave!

Where?

I saw a cliff with scrub and small ferns clinging to its cracks and folds and fallen rocks piled at its base. No cave.

Joey scrambled towards a tumble of boulders.

Here! C’mon! Let’s go!

Joey! Don’t go in until we’ve had a talk! Hunter ordered.

Whatever! C’mon!

We squeezed between the cliff and the strewn boulders and rubble and crouched to peer into a gap barely knee high.

See? So, you have to, like, wiggle in but only a little way and then it kind of opens up, you know, it gets wider, and the roof gets higher, and then you can crawl properly and then you can stand up.

Hunter stared at him.

Jesus, Joey! Seriously? You’re bloody lucky you got out okay. You could’ve fallen, broken your leg or your neck! We’d have had no idea where you’d gone!

"I told you, already! I crawled in! I’m not a retard! I could see, like, from the light out here and then, when it got too dark, I could feel my way! I felt the floor in front of me with my hands before I moved on! And ohhh…

…ohhh, I get it! You’re gonna say it’s too dangerous and we can’t go and have a look! Shit! Shit!

Exactly what Hunter would say, what any sensible person would say.

Hey, we hauled ourselves all the way up here and we’re all geared up; we might as well have a look, don’t you think? Now we’re here and all? I said, surprising myself as much as them.

Hunter nodded.

Ae, I do. I said we’d have a look, and we will. Like I said, I hate caves. Small dark places scare me stupid but I’m curious, too. I want to take a look. Joey just has to understand he took a massive risk. It could’ve been a major so let’s all be a bit more careful this time.

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Joey led the way. Hunter knotted the rope round Joey’s waist then in some sort of fancy hitch over his shoulder, tied me in the middle and himself behind me.

The opening was so low even Joey had to wriggle in on his belly. Rubble rolled under me, and the rocky roof scraped my back. It didn’t worry me but, behind me, Hunter muttered and swore as he forced his bulk down into the earth.

After a couple of minutes of wriggling down a gentle slope, the passage and the ceiling lifted and we could crawl.

Joey set the pace, and we crawled up then again, more steeply down and I only realised we’d reached the end when he stopped pulling on the rope.

Awesome! he whispered.

The space around me opened up. I shone my headlamp around.

Oh my lord!

Behind me, Hunter emerged from the tunnel, groaned and stretched his back before he looked about.

Hell’s teeth, you said it was big but I hadn’t imagined anything like this, Joey!

The cave was enormous, its walls pale and slick and shiny with moisture. I could hear water dripping.

Oh my lord, I said again. Look!

My headlamp just reached several icicle shapes hanging from the ceiling and other spikes and mounds rising to meet them from the floor. Joey and I set off towards them, our headlamps trained on them.

Hunter yanked my rope.

Wait! Stop! For God’s sake, Cat! Watch where you’re going! There could be holes! All this water has to go somewhere!

We went on, watching where we put our feet, so it was only when we got close the extent and complexity was revealed. Everywhere we looked, thick, layered secretions on the floor extended towards the slender fingers reaching down. Some were just forming on the ceiling or the floor, others had existed long enough to meet in the middle and become columns.

Droplets formed at the tips of the stalactites, water pooled on the tops of the stalagmites and the slippery floor.

We explored slowly until, beyond the maze of cones and tubes, spikes and lumps, we reached the cave’s back wall and Hunter and I turned to retrace our steps but Joey stopped us.

Hey, look! That’s another tunnel, isn’t it? We didn’t walk in a circle, did we?

He swept his headlamp around the dark hole at the base of the wall.

No, this isn’t where we came in. See, water, not sand and no tracks and it’s wider. This is a new one! Come on, let’s have a look in there, too!

Okay, Cat? A quick look, say ten minutes or so then we’ll get out. What d’you reckon?

Fine by me. I never expected it to be so interesting.

I’d never done anything like this before. I’d always meant to take Joey to Waitomo but never quite got round to it. I thought caving would be dirty and scary and, well, cave wetas. I can’t bear wetas. I shuddered at the thought.

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It wasn’t long before we could get back up onto our hands and knees. Good, because the second tunnel sloped steeply downwards and we’d been wriggling on our bellies in cold water.

Ahead, Joey murmured, Wow! Awesome!

It was. The cave was tiny, just a narrow stone ledge around a deep, dark pool in a pale stony basin. Water trickled into it from the tunnel, dripped from stalactites, seeped down the walls.

We switched off our headlamps, sat on the ledge, dangled our feet over the pool. Above, thousands of tiny blue green lights spangled the ceiling. Heads tipped back, we watched the glowworm lights in silence and it was some time before anyone spoke again.

Excellent, Hunter said, at last. Right, are we ready? We should head back…

Hey, look! There’s another tunnel! C’mon, let’s have a quick look in that one too!

Joey’s headlamp was directed at a small black hole at the end of the narrow ledge.

No. No! No more. Not today. I’ve had enough now. I’ve got to get out.

Hunter’s voice shook slightly. His claustrophobia must have kicked back in.

Joey, no. We should get back to camp. We must’ve been down here for a couple of hours now and I’m freezing.

I was wet through, shivering and more than ready to get out.

Joey didn’t listen. He crawled towards the new opening.

I’ll just have a quick look. You stay here!

Joey! No! Hunter ordered. Shit, he’s untied the rope! Come back, boy!

Joey! You promised!

He’d reached the opening but he turned and looked around. I thought, thank goodness, he’s coming back, then I saw his face. Confusion. Fear. Something… Something wrong… I shone my own headlamp about…

Something huge and horrible roared towards us and crashed over us.

The world lurched and heaved and shook. Rock fell from the roof and walls. Water slopped wildly, over the ledge, over us. I fell, grabbed desperately for something, anything, to hold, found nothing.

Adding to my terror, and the chaos, something landed on my back, scrabbled and clawed over me. Jazz! Yelping frantically, she scrambled past us to get to Joey. Somehow, Hunter managed to grab me in one hand and the length of bitten through rope Jazz trailed behind her in the other.

Another huge jolt hit. Joey’s hold on the rocky wall slipped, he fell forward into the hole, his cry was cut short. Jazz howled and snapped at Hunter’s hand. He let go the rope and grabbed her collar and her scruff.

That’ll do, Jazz! he yelled and shook her, hard. She stopped howling and starting whimpering.

I crawled past them, along the ledge, through the slopping water and the falling rocks, calling Joey. I shone my headlamp into the hole. All I saw was an empty chute so deep my light didn’t reach the bottom.

Joey! I screamed into the hole. Joey! Oh God. Joey.

Move over, Cat. Give me your headlamp, mine’s gone.

Hunter grabbed the headlamp from my head and directed it into the hole.

Joey! he bellowed. Cooooo-eeee!

There was no reply.

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CHAPTER 2

Hold these.

Hunter gave me Jazz’s rope and my headlamp, untied the rope around us, coiled it up.

Cat, that’s a helluva drop and he’s not answering. I’ve got to get down there. I need the rope. Your lamp too. I’ve got the 1st Aid kit.

I shook my head, kept shaking it as Hunter kept talking.

Cat, get back to camp. Set off the emergency beacon. Hang on to Jazz. She’ll lead you out. I’ll stay with Joey. Wait at the camp. Guide Search and Rescue here to us. Okay? Okay, Cat?

No! No! I’m coming with you. He’s my son! He needs me!

Cat, he’ll need expert help and he’ll need someone with him till the experts get here. I’m stronger than you; a more experienced climber. I can do more good here and you can do more good getting help back here as quick as possible. Please, Cat, please go. Take Jazz with you.

Hunter gave me a push to get me moving. He was right. I didn’t want to leave Joey but I had to. I grabbed Jazz’s rope and crawled, as fast as I could, towards the exit.

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I don’t know if I could have found my way out without Jazz to lead me and, when I got out of the caves, I still had no idea where I was.

Everything had changed beyond recognition. A southerly storm must have hit while we were in the caves. It was snowing. It looked like it’d been snowing forever. A massive earthquake and an unseasonal snowfall? Unbelievable.

I struggled over my knees in it, terrified for Joey, for Hunter, for myself.

The ground never stopped shaking. Great lumps of snow fell off the branches of the pines. I fell too but kept going, stumbling and tumbling down through the trees. Pine trees. Nothing but old pines.

The snow seemed to have changed everything. I couldn’t think properly. I only knew I had to get to the camp, get the beacon, set off the alarm.

The clearing was unrecognizable. No tents, no campfire, no mountain of firewood, no washing line, no sign we or anyone else had ever been there.

The creek was frozen from bank to bank. Even the waterfall was frozen, only a trickle still flowed in the middle. The lupins we’d walked through to reach the pool at the bottom of the fall were gone, buried beneath the weight of snow.

Where’s the tent? Where’s our stuff? What’s happening? What do I do now? God, what’s going on? I searched and searched and found nothing. Nothing.

I sat on a rock, my arms wrapped around myself, shaking with fear and cold. It stopped snowing and a nasty wind got up. There’d been more aftershocks, one so big the pines around me bent and thrashed and one close by fell with a terrifying crash.

When Hunter came, jumping and sliding down the hill, I rushed to meet him.

Where’s Joey? Why’ve you left him? I screamed at him. Where is he! Hunter! Where’s Joey!

"Cat! Listen! Listen to me. He’s not there. I got to the bottom, Cat. He’s fallen into an old mine but he wasn’t there.

"Other people were. Their boot prints were clear. They must’ve picked him up and taken him out with them. They’ve taken him out, Cat, taken him to safety.

"He’s far better off with them than lying in a tunnel in a swarm of aftershocks, waiting for Search and Rescue.

I searched, Cat, but I couldn’t tell which way they’d gone, couldn’t follow them and, anyway, I had to get back to you, to tell you someone’s rescued him already and will be looking after him. It’s good news, babe, not bad.

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CHAPTER 3

We tried to find the emergency beacon. We searched the clearing again. We poked sticks into the snow. We dug with sticks and our bare hands, at the places we agreed our tent had been, the campfire between the two big logs, the spot downstream where Joey had pitched his tent.

Jazz wandered in circles, whining. We found nothing. No tents, no logs, no campfire, no gear; no packs, no beacon, no cell phones.

Surely, this was our clearing? Surely, that waterfall was our waterfall, that snow-capped flat rock in the middle of the iced over pool was our sunbathing rock?

My legs below my torn shorts were purple from the cold. I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore. Somehow, I’d lost a boot and sock and my foot and ankle were black and blue and swollen. The pain was getting steadily worse. I’d been walking on it; now I could hardly put it to the ground.

Hunter found a low overhang beneath the cliff, almost a small cave, near the waterfall. The lupins probably concealed it until the snow flattened them. It was deep enough that very little snow had blown in and the drift in front further protected it.

Inside, tucked into a corner at the back, someone had stacked firewood, several tightly rolled and leather-strapped blankets piled on top, a couple of lidded tin pots containing waxed cloth packages of jerked meat, dried fruit and crushed oats.

Lucky. Hunters or trampers maybe, must use this place as a bivvy, Hunter guessed. Maybe even the guys who found Joey, Cat.

He felt in his pockets and brought out his waterproof matches and his pocketknife. He’d lost the 1st aid kit clipped to his belt climbing back up the chute and his big hunting knife had been left in the tent so that was gone with the rest of our gear.

"Right. Now listen, Cat. Here’s what we do. You need that ankle strapping. I don’t know; it might be broken. It’s badly sprained anyway. And, babe, you need to stay and wait for Joey, in case he comes looking for you.

"If he’s mobile, that’s what he’ll do, and that’s what he’ll ask his rescuers to do anyway, because he knows we’d come here first, so you need to be here for him. And look, you’ve got a fire, bedding, and enough food to keep you and him and Jazz going for a few days.

I’ll go for help. Hopefully, I might meet someone on the tracks who’s got a beacon or a functioning phone.

As he spoke, he rolled out a blanket, gently pushed me down onto it. He unrolled another, hacked a couple of strips from one long edge, bound my ankle and foot with them, packed snow around it.

Hunter made a small fire where others before us had built fires, just inside the opening. The smoke drifted out and hung in the air.

He reminded me to be careful, not burn too much wood too quickly and leave myself short. He told me to ration the food, said there was enough for me and Joey for at least three days.

I nodded, and nodded, and nodded, said nothing, leaned into the opening, watched the hill and hoped to see Joey coming to find us.

Hunter scoured through the edges of the forest, found two big dead branches and piled them before the overhang.

Keep your fluids up, Cat. Melt snow and boil it. Soak some dried meat in it. Make broth. Don’t eat the snow, babe, boil it properly and keep drinking. Share it with Jazz. Okay? Okay, Cat?

I nodded. Okay! Yes! Okay!

He gave me his pocketknife, bent to kiss my cheek then walked away, following the frozen creek down the clearing. My eyes slid to the hillside. Where was Joey?

When I looked back, Hunter was talking to six men on horses. They’d be able to go for help! Maybe they’d found Joey!

I clambered to my feet and went to the opening, started down towards them, hobbling on my bandaged foot, holding Jazz’s collar.

Two of the riders came to meet me. I smiled. Waved.

Cat! No! Run, Cat! Run! Hunter yelled.

The two horses moved into a slow canter and I saw the riders’ hard, grinning faces. And their spears. Spears? Spears! I let Jazz go and turned toward the creek. I limped as fast as I could, angling away from the riders, shrieked ‘Get outside’ at Jazz and my poor old dog bolted across the frozen stream and disappeared into the pines.

I had no hope of outrunning them. I was lame and in deep snow. The chasers were mounted and determined. Someone struck or kicked my head. Someone grabbed the neck of my anorak and a handful of hair as I fell.

I wasn’t completely out. I knew they were dragging me between them back to the others, knew when they dropped me face down in the snow, I just couldn’t do anything about it but turn my head to one side so I could breathe.

The riders surrounded us. A young guy on a big black horse smiled. Hunter backed up until he stood over me. It started to snow again.

The boy smiled. His smile was cold and his blue eyes icy. His first strike was so quick, Hunter only managed to twist aside and the spear sliced across his neck beneath his ear.

Hunter!

I didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t believe what I was seeing.

The others struck then, at Hunter’s head, his back, his arms; someone behind him drove a spear through his thigh. Hunter groaned as he fell, twisted to land beside me, turned to look at me.

Sorry, Cat, he mouthed. Sorry, he whispered.

Hunter? Hunter!

The boy snapped his fingers and a small, rat-faced man on another black horse placed the point of his spear in the centre of Hunter’s chest and slowly, deliberately, leaned on it.

Hunter arched his back and screamed; a shocking sound that stopped abruptly as bright frothy blood ran from the corner of his mouth to add to the blood pooling beneath him. A snowflake fell into his unseeing eye. He didn’t move again. The small man giggled.

Hunter? Hunter!

I tried to roll over, tried to get to him. A booted foot took me under the chin, I bit my tongue and fell backwards into the dark.

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CHAPTER 4

Strange sounds.

Strange voices.

My head banged. My heart pounded. Everything hurt. My head. My face. Mouth. Chest. Tummy. My arms and legs. Everything. Hurt. My mouth tasted of blood and vomit. I gagged and retched.

I opened my eyes. Saw nothing. For a moment, I thought I’d gone blind before I realised I was lying on my stomach, on a horse. Unbelievable.

I spat another sour gob of bile and blood. Memory returned in a mad, disjointed slideshow. The camp, the caves, the earthquake, Joey falling, the snow, the pines, Hunter’s murder.

I tried to sit up. Couldn’t. My hands and ankles seemed to have been tied together under the horse’s belly. Trying to free myself only made everything hurt more. I was trussed, like the carcass of a deer, across the back of a horse. Those same murderous men had kidnapped me.

Joey! Just hang on, okay. I’ll get help as soon as I can, I promise. Hold on, love!

Pleathe? Thomeone? Pleathe, let me go? Could you untie me, pleathe?

Pleathe? Thomeone? I had a smashed lip. My tongue was torn and swollen and catching on a loose molar.

The rider next to me kicked me in the armpit.

Quiet. Be silent or be silenced.

His voice was high and nasal and excited. He sounded small. The man who murdered Hunter had been small, older, rat-faced. I remembered his giggle. I hadn’t heard him speak but, if he had, he might’ve sounded like this.

Pleathe!

I tried again.

Pleathe let me go. I’m nobody. I’ve got no money. I don’t even know anyone who could pay a ranthom…

He kicked me in the face. Black, shot through with red stars and pain. I spat more blood and the tooth but I didn’t pass out. I wanted to, it hurt so badly.

Another horse drove between me and the man who’d kicked me.

Fall back, brother, if you please, take charge of that lot at the rear.

This voice was quiet, deep, firm, made me think the speaker was big and not young. Most of the gang had matched that description. Only the young leader and the rat faced killer hadn’t.

The man who kicked me muttered. The newcomer didn’t reply. I couldn’t see him or the rider he’d ordered back. Upside down, in the dark, all I could see was mud and snow and dung, the flank of the horse that carried me, the legs of other horses nearest me, boots in stirrups.

I retched and spat more bile, saliva and blood. My stomach kept rolling. My tongue, the tooth socket and the inside of my cheek were bleeding again after the kick. I coughed and spat again.

Lady? Are you well?

What?

Yeth. I’m fine. Thank you, I croaked and spat again. Why did I say that! Stupid! I’m so stupid. And the lisp made me sound even stupider.

As you say, lady. I was about to suggest I take you up behind me, perhaps you might be more comfortable riding upright, but I expect you know what’s best for you.

I wished I didn’t feel so sick, wished I didn’t hurt so much, wished I could think, wished I could wake from this nightmare.

The world had rolled and rocked and roared and now I was somewhere I didn’t recognise with people I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares, a gang of stone-cold killers. This sort of thing only happens to other people. In other places. In books. Movies. In the news. I was terrified.

Don’t think about that. Joey needs me. Concentrate on surviving. On escape at the first opportunity.

I couldn’t move, let alone get away, so getting untied and off this horse was the obvious first step.

I smelled horses, snow, horse dung and pines. When we hiked into the clearing, there’d been a few young wilding pines scattered through the bush. We’d arrived in bright summer sunshine with a mountain forecast for more of the same for the week ahead. We’d escaped from the caves into a pine forest, deep snow and more snow falling.

We must’ve got turned around in the caves. We must’ve ended up in another, similar, clearing on the other side of the ranges. That must be why our gear was missing, too.

I spat again.

Thorry. Not thinking too clearly. I’d like to ride. Pleathe.

My horse suddenly veered to the side and stopped. My heart lurched. My stomach heaved. I hurt so much. Maybe I had internal injuries? My mouth was still bleeding.

Horses and men trotted past, darker shadows in the darkness, many more than the half dozen who’d attacked us. One or two spoke to the man with me as they passed by and he answered with a few words or a chuckle. One wolf-whistled softly. Others laughed. I heard the high-pitched giggle again.

Someone untied my wrists and ankles. The pain was awful. I bit back a cry.

He eased me off the horse and propped me up against another one. I couldn’t stand without support. My head spun. My hands and feet were numb. My ankle couldn’t take any weight. I trembled with terror and cold. I sagged and the man on the horse grabbed the hood of my fleece.

I leaned forward to heave. The man let me go and someone else slid an arm under my stomach and supported me as I retched. So much effort to produce nothing but pain, animal noises and more blood, bile and saliva.

Thorry. I’m not great, acthually. Thorry.

Take this, lady. Rinse your mouth and spit. Then a few small sips, the man holding me instructed. His voice was also quiet and deep but boyish. I froze. The young killer? I remembered his cold smile and frosted eyes. No. Not him. He’d never help anyone.

He held a leather flask to my mouth and I smelled spirits. I wasn’t sure alcohol was a good idea but if it got rid of the taste of blood and vomit it was worth trying. It tasted of plums and it stung like hell. I rinsed and spat then swallowed three more slugs before the flask was withdrawn.

My aching stomach clenched on the alcohol but didn’t immediately reject it. The man on the horse spoke again.

Lady? Can you continue?

I couldn’t take any weight on my foot. Even if I got the chance to run, how could I, when I couldn’t even stand? I gave up the idea of immediate escape. First, survive. Get fit. Then get away. Hang on, Joey darling.

Yeth, I think tho. Thank you, I said then gasped when the young man holding me lifted me to perch side-saddle behind the rider. He was very large. His horse was very large. He drew my arm around him and held it clamped under his.

Wha…! Wait! I can’t thtay on like thith!

Lady, if Gethen Briel finds us missing, there will be consequences for all. And Warwick will make sure he is told. Hold tight.

The big man put his horse into a gait that wasn’t a trot or a canter and I clutched at him. He was so wide my hands barely met around him. There was just one other rider with us, the young man who’d taken me off the horse and who’d given me the flask. He rode behind us, leading the horse I’d been on, with a huge bull mastiff or something running beside him.

And lady?

What? I croaked at his back.

Lady, if you must spew again, turn your head. This is my best coat.

Mmh! Thorry! I’ll try.

My stomach rolled in time with the great hindquarters rolling beneath me. The grey picked up speed, pacing like a standard-bred racehorse. My head thumped. My ankle throbbed. My mouth was still bleeding though less than before I’d rinsed it with the brandy. I swallowed more blood and spit.

I laid my sore face against the ‘best coat’. It smelled so strongly of horse, sheep and sweat a little blood and vomit could hardly matter. I closed my eyes.

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Dogs barked, horses whinnied, men shouted greetings, insults and news.

We have her! Lord Gethen found her! The lady!

They sounded elated and the news was repeated and greeted with cheers all around the clearing.

Me? Were they talking about me? Had they been searching for us? Common sense returned. They couldn’t have been searching for us because we weren’t missing. We weren’t due out of the bush for another five days. Anyway, these murderous mongrels would never be part of any official search party.

Campfires flickered and flared in front of dozens of tents pitched around the clearing. More horses were tied on lines between the trees and more huge dogs were chained behind them. There were even more people at this camp than in the gang that had brought me here.

Some left their fires and came to stare at me, others remained at their firesides and shouted greetings and questions. My grip tightened on the man before me.

Now, hear me, lady, he muttered. You’re our prisoner and I can only do so much to help you. It may not be pleasant but you’ll not be much harmed if you’re quiet, obedient and uncomplaining. We’ve sought you for a very long time and we’ll not lose you now. Behave and you’ll be safe enough.

Then he shoved me off his horse. I yelped as I hit the ground. My ankle crumpled and I fell forward into the snow and mud. My arms were slow to react. Again, hot red pain flashed from my jaw to my brain and men laughed.

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CHAPTER 5

I came to in a tent.

The bedding reeked of horses and dogs.

I had a banging headache and my whole body hurt. My mouth tasted of bile and blood again so I’d continued retching and bleeding even while unconscious. I lay quietly for a while, fought not to throw up and to understand what happened.

There’d been a huge earthquake. Joey was either lost in the caves or had been found by cavers or miners. Hunter was dead, murdered by the same men who’d kidnapped me. Hunter was dead but Joey wasn’t. He wasn’t. I’d know if Joey were dead.

Hunter hadn’t wanted to go caving in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to stay underground for so long. He hadn’t wanted to explore the second one at all. If we’d got out when Hunter wanted to go, we’d have been outside when the earthquake struck. We’d have been uninjured. We’d have been together. At our own campsite.

Now Joey was lost and Hunter was dead and it was my fault. None of it would’ve happened but for me.

I did a quick check. Last night my ankle couldn’t carry my weight but I could move it and I could wiggle my toes so it wasn’t broken. Probably.

The back of my head was swollen, bloody and painful.

The first kicks injured my head and mouth, the next made raising my arm painful but not impossible, the last knocked out the loose tooth but hadn’t broken my jaw. It hurt to breathe. I’d had cracked ribs before and it felt like I had a couple more now but everything seemed to work, albeit stiffly and painfully. Unless I counted my heart which felt like it was broken beyond repair.

I’d worked out a simple plan on the ride through the night.

I had to survive.

I had to recover physically as quickly as possible.

I had to work out where I was and where to find help.

I had to escape from these thugs, raise the alarm, find Joey then get the gang arrested and charged with murder, kidnap and assault.

I looked around.

I lay in some sort of sleeping bag on a folded woollen blanket.

I was in a tent much like my grandparents had when I was a child though this was made of sheets of dark, heavy canvas lashed together. It could easily sleep six and, given the piles of bedding and gear, including saddlery stacked by the door, it might do. It was high enough in the middle to stand up in, with wooden poles along each side and long poles holding the roof up.

A small brazier in the middle provided light and heat. The air was still cold enough to cause my breath to fog.

And there was a child, sitting cross-legged at my feet, silently watching me through a curtain of dirty hair.

Thit! Who are you? What d’you want?

I sat up and realised I was stark naked, my anorak, fleece, thermal tee and shorts, even my undies, my boot and sock were gone. I clutched the sleeping bag to my neck.

Thit! I snarled at the child, if snarling with a lisp was even a thing; the lisp was maddening. Where are my clotheth? Who took my clotheth?

The child had fled to the door when I sat up, dark eyes barely visible through his lank mane, poised to run or yell for help. He was about ten or eleven years old, wearing hand me downs that were far too big for him. Even his boots were too big although his trousers were tucked into what looked like warm socks.

Well? Who are you? Wha’th your name? And where’th my clotheth?

Unfair. None of this was his fault.

Mistress… Mistress, don’t upset yourself. I’m Snake. I’m a Ward. Milord Wildwood said I must watch you and tell him when you woke. I’ll do that now.

He was very keen to get away from me. I didn’t blame him.

Wait! Wait, pleathe. I’m thorry for thouting at you. Thnake? Really? I have a thon, a bit older than you. Hith name’th Joey. Look, pleathe, can you find my clothe for me? I can’t thit here with no clotheth on. Thnake? Ith your mother here?

He hesitated in the doorway.

Nay, mistress. My mother is dead. There are no women in the hands! There are girls but they have other masters and other duties. Milord set me to watch over you and to fetch him when you wake. I must get him.

And, with that, he slipped through the door flaps and was gone, ignoring my pleas to find my clothes first. I clambered to my feet. Foot. I still couldn’t stand on the bad one. I wrapped myself in the blanket, lava-lava style, then fell rather than sat back on the bedroll.

My ankle was least painful stuck out in front of me. Sitting with nothing to prop myself against was uncomfortable but I couldn’t meet this Milord, what a crazy name, flat on my back and naked.

I’d thought things couldn’t get worse but they just had. Nothing like taking a prisoner’s clothes away to make escape difficult. I wouldn’t get far, wearing a blanket and bare feet, hobbling along snowy forestry roads.

How could I flee on the roads where I’d be so easily followed?

How could I find my way to safety if I didn’t use the roads?

How could I avoid leaving a trail for those awful dogs to follow?

My head hurt, my mouth hurt, breathing hurt, my arm wasn’t working properly and a bruise was spreading from my armpit, down my ribcage, round under my breast. That vicious rat’s boot had almost certainly cracked a rib or two.

I didn’t have to wait long.

A cough at the door flap, a short pause, then a very large man ducked inside with the boy at his heels. The man studied me for a moment or two before he shrugged off his black sheepskin jacket and flung it, without looking, in the general direction of the boy who caught it, shook the damp off it, and hung it over one of the packs by the door.

I caught my breath in shock. In the gloom, he could have been Hunter’s older brother or cousin. No! No! Surely not? He was unshaven, his broad face weathered, tanned and freckled. He had brown eyes and his chestnut hair was flecked with grey.

He settled onto a folding camp chair the boy placed near the brazier. The child squatted at his side. He watched me in silence. I kept my eyes on his boots.

I guessed, from the sheer size of him, this was the man who’d taken me up to ride pillion behind him. If so, then he’d taken me away from the rat-man. And, despite the callous way he’d dumped me off his horse into the snow and mud when we reached the camp, he’d taken care of me on the ride through the night.

Apart from the fact he looked so much like Hunter, and his size, exaggerated by his clothing, a grey woollen shirt over a turtle-neck black jumper, black trousers, black, fleece-lined, leather boots and a belt with a couple of sheathed knives on it, he was quite ordinary. There was nothing about him to make me instantly fear or hate him, unlike the rat-man whom I’d loathed the moment I heard his voice, but he was part of this gang of murderers who’d killed Hunter in cold blood and kidnapped me.

This man had been careless not cruel. I couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said as we arrived at the camp but I knew he’d warned me to be careful and obedient, said I’d be safe if I behaved, provided this shelter and the boy to keep an eye on me.

He seemed fond of the boy and the boy of him so presumably he was the child’s father.

What did the boy say his name was? Snake. Snake Ward. But he’d had gone to fetch Milord Wildwood. What sort of name was that? Maybe they were Americans. They sometimes use British titles as first names, don’t they? That made sense, of sorts, I mean, some Americans are preppers and survivalists and some mega rich Americans had bought boltholes here, too.

Okay, they had different surnames. Meant nothing. The boy probably had his mother’s name not his father’s. Whatever, Milord Wildwood was a monster who killed and destroyed innocent people. Can’t trust him. Can’t trust anyone.

What did he see as he looked me over?

I definitely wasn’t looking my best and my best was never great. I was sick, I was filthy, I was naked and, oh dear god, who’d done that to me? Him? Rat-man? What else was done to me while I was out of it?

I was wearing a smelly old blanket. I’d been beaten up, I’d been throwing up and spitting blood for hours and hours. I stank of vomit, terror-sweat and urine so, along with everything else, sometime during all this, I’d wet myself. I was half-mad with fear for my son, grief for my lover, shame for the state I was in. It would all show in my face and my eyes. I kept quiet, eyes down, waited for him to speak. I knew better than to provoke a violent man.

The boy wriggled impatiently, looked from me to the big man to me again.

I risked another quick glance.

The man was alert to the boy’s movement and mine. His gaze shifted from me to the child for a second then back to me and his mouth twitched in the smallest of smiles. He cocked his eyebrow.

What? We’re having some sort of parent-to-parent moment? I don’t think so. You and I have nothing in common, Mr Wildwood.

Lady. Are you well?

It was the deep voice I remembered. I answered as I had the previous night.

Yeth, I’m fine, thank you. Ecthept I’d like my clotheth back pleathe. I don’t like thith blanket. It’th not my colour. And it maketh me look fat.

Why did I say that? I held my breath. My stupid mouth. That was exactly the sort of stupid joke that enraged Don when he was drunk, or angry, or simply spoiling for a fight.

I try to be quiet and compliant but, when I get scared, I get stupid. Stupider. I make everything worse. Jokes, flattery, reason, pleading, tears, defence, offence, silence. Everything made things worse with Don. This would be no different. I’m so stupid.

I stared at his boots. He stared at me. The boy tried to watch us both.

Snake said you asked for your own clothing back.

Yeth, I did.

The boy’s dark eyes flicked from one to the other of us from behind his filthy hair.

And this blanket is the wrong colour and makes you look fat. Obviously, this is a problem that must be resolved. Therefore, since returning your clothing is not possible, Snake will …acquire… something more acceptable. Aye, boy?

Aye, Milord, the boy agreed.

Pleathe, can’t I have my own thtuff back? I’d prefer my own clothe, pleathe.

Lady. Your clothing has been sent on ahead. There is much that is strange about you. Not least your attire. Therefore, a courier has taken news of your capture and the proof your clothing provides.

What? Thent where? Proof of what? Proof you murdered Hunter and took me hothtage? I’d have thought you’d be ankthiouth to keep that to yourthelveth!

Stupid. I’m so stupid!

My mouth and my torn, swollen tongue were bleeding again. I never knew how many words have esses in them. Don had never hit my face. Far too obvious.

There was an aching lump in my throat but I wouldn’t cry. I don’t. Not ever. Crying just makes everything worse. I tried to erase all thoughts of Joey, and Hunter, too. They had to stay out of the way until it was safer.

The big man nodded thoughtfully. I had no idea what he was thinking. He crossed his arms on his chest.

After more silent scrutiny, he said, "Lady. I am Edward, called Wolf, Lord Wildwood, Battle Master of Briel’s Battalion, Master of Lord Gethen’s First Century. My rank gives me authority over my men but none whatsoever over Gethen Briel.

I told you yesternight we’ve been seeking you since the High Lords were advised She of the Prophecy was come at last. We’ll not lose you now. I also told you, I’ll do what I can to keep you from harm until we get you down to the Holy City. Further harm, he amended.

Nothing he’d said made any sense. ‘Battle Master’, ‘High Lords’, ‘Lord Gethen’, ‘Battalion’? Century? Holy City? What’s he talking about? Rome? Really, could this get any more insane?

I would know your name, lady, your title or rank, and who you serve, if you please?

Pardon? Oh. Thorry. How d’you do, Wolf? I held out my hand. I’m Catherine Winter, they call me Cat...

His arms remained crossed and he ignored my extended hand.

…and I don’t have a title! Or rank. I’m jutht Cat Winter. I’m a real ethtate agent.

So. Cat Winter. Who is the lord of the estate you serve, Cat Winter?

Pardon? Oh. No. It’th a company, a buthineth? I have a both not a lord. And the’th a woman. Her name ith Murphy, Margaret Murphy. We thell real ethtate? Property? I thell houtheth. You know? Houtheth? For people to live in?

His gaze narrowed. Obviously, my torn tongue and battered mouth made me harder to understand and, though he and the boy spoke English perfectly, they had accents I couldn’t identify, so maybe English was their second language.

He made no comment. I couldn’t tell if he’d understood what I’d said. He stood up. The boy got his jacket.

"This boy is Snake. He’s my ward. I’ve put him to watch you, lady, and to help you where he can. He’s a clever boy, resourceful and willing.

"Snake, be wary. The lady is a prisoner and she’s to be always guarded. There’s a man before and behind this tent and there will be whenever the lady is within. If she leaves the tent for any reason she’s to be accompanied, by you and by both guards.

"Take careful note, lady. Lord Gethen found you and would not be pleased to lose you again.

"And you, boy, fetch me if Brother Warwick comes by or any of his hands. I’ll keep them busy but I can’t be everywhere at all times. If Lord Gethen seeks her out or sends for her, fetch me immediately.

Lady, rest while you may. Snake will bring you food and drink, and clothing when he can. He’ll keep the brazier going. We wait on but three more hands so we’ll be on the road soon enough and it’s a long one. I bid you good day.

When he’d gone, I held my hands out. I wasn’t surprised to see them trembling.

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CHAPTER 6

I watched the door flaps fall closed behind Wolf Wildwood before I turned to the boy.

Well. Lookth like we’re thtuck with each other, doethn’t it, Thnake?

Aye, mistress… Lady Cat.

Though most of what that man said was obviously ridiculous, what was indisputable was, the young man he’d called ‘Lord Gethen’ and his men had murdered Hunter and assaulted then abducted me.

But why? Why? And now I was in a camp with even more men who were, probably, no less brutal and dangerous. This boy was with them. That man was one of them. They were taking me somewhere – the ‘Holy City’ – where? Why?

Wildwood said the boy was his ‘ward’ so he was the boy’s caregiver or guardian not his father. That only made