Eden Forest (Part one of the Saskia Trilogy) (15 page)

My mind goes frantic. Eat, as in eat me? Get up!! Get up!!!

I scream in my head.

Rising on shaky limbs, I get to my knees. Sweat gathers on

my forehead from exhaustion. When the creature sees me trying

to get up, a high-pitch squeal leaves his throat and he charges.

The others are pounding the ground with their feet and fists

while screeching. He is an inch from me, his eyes wild with

hunger, but that’s as far as he gets. An arrow is embedded in

his neck. Blood splatters across my face as he crumbles to the

ground.

There’s an eerie silence amongst the creatures as they focus

behind me. I look around just as Tristan and Legis move forward.

The leader of the creatures digs his feet into the sand like a bull,

causing dust to rise, and throws his head back, letting out a

deafening screech. They charge.

Tristan takes three of them out with arrows in a matter of

seconds, while Legis fights on the ground with two swords,

decapitating anything that moves. I stay on my knees, too

shocked to move. It’s over in minutes. Only one lives—the

leader—but he has a long gash down his torso. Tristan places

his foot on his chest, the same action the creature did to me.

Has he been here that long?

Legis brings water to me. I gulp it down as Legis looks at me

with disappointment. “You could have died,” he says. I ignore

him and pour water all over my face, feeling a little more alert.

He helps me rise on shaky legs. My attention returns to the

creature under Tristan’s boot. Tristan has his sword pointed at

its chest.

“Exile, you are a long way from the mountains.” His tone is

harsh.

The exile looks at me. “Smell.”

This causes Tristan to sneer cruelly. “You lie.” And he slices

off the creature’s hand. It goes berserk under Tristan’s foot, but

doesn’t get loose. “Why are you here, exile?” Tristan’s voice is

even harsher than before.

The creature is squealing in pain, but he manages one word.

“Smell,” he says again. Wrong answer. Tristan slices off his

other hand.

Oh God, I feel sick.

The creature is screeching in pain. It sounds like a dying cat.

Two pools of blood stream from his wrists where its hands once

were.

“Stop it, Tristan. This is cruel,” I shout at him. He looks at

me but keeps his foot on the creature’s chest as it trashes under

him.

“Be quiet. I will deal with you later.” His tone is deadly;

his eyes are filled with anger. Feeling very afraid, I take a step

backwards. His attention is back on the creature again. “Last

chance, exile.” He raises his sword.

The creature looks afraid, shaking its head in a pleading

gesture. Just before the sword reaches him, he speaks. “King

Paulus.” The blade pauses at his throat.

“Where?” Tristan asks.

The creature’s features take on a resigned look. I think he’s

done talking.

Tristan pushes the blade harder. “Where, exile?” And then to

my amazement the creature throws his head forward, pushing

the blade into his own neck, killing himself. Blood gurgles in

its throat.

Bile rises in my throat, and I look away as Tristan pushes

the creature off his blade using his foot and wipes it clean on

his trousers. He slides the sword into the holder on his back.

Then his intense gaze turns on me. My muscles tighten as he

moves towards me, breathing heavy with anger. He grabs both

my hands, pulling them together without speaking, and from

his belt extracts rope that he uses to tie my hands together.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a panicky voice, but he keeps tying knots

in a complex way. I yank my hands to try and stop him. “I said

sorry. Please don’t.”

He shoves cloth into my mouth, cutting off my protests, and

ties a piece over it to keep the gag in place. I’m still protesting,

but nothing I say is understandable. “If I have to tie you to me,

I will.” He shakes me. “Do you understand?” I nod my head as

tears fall from my eyes.

Tristan’s face softens slightly. Hating to show him any

weakness, I look away from his gaze. He places me in front of

him on the horse and Legis mounts his own. We make our way

back to camp. I try to keep my body straight, but I’m too weak

and I slump from exhaustion. I start to drift off but panic every

time I see the creatures in my mind.

“Sleep. You are safe now,” Tristan says and wraps an arm

around me so I won’t fall off. He holds the reins in his other

hand. The warmth from his body and his heartbeat lulls me too

sleep. I feel safe with his strong arm around me. I just wonder

what price I’ll pay for his kindness, and then my thoughts are

no more as I fall asleep.

Waking up some time later, I’m lying on my side. I smile with

warmth and contentment. There’s a heavy blanket over me. My

hair is loose, and a curl falls onto my face. I raise my hand

to push it back and that’s when I feel the rope biting into my

wrists. My hands are tied. Sitting up too quickly sends a rush

of dizziness through me. I regret the action straight away, as

my head is spinning. It slowly resides and all last night’s events

come back to me—trying to escape, the creatures, Tristan’s

anger and his kindness. A blush rises in my cheeks when I think

of his arm around me.

Struggling to my feet is harder than expected without the

use of my hands. It’s hard to balance, but I make it upright and

steady myself. Tristan and Legis’s voices make me pause.

“Why would King Paulus want Morrick’s daughter?”

“To use her against him,” Legis replies.

Tristan lets out a heavy breath of frustration. “King Paulus is

smarter than that. If he wanted to get at Morrick, why not take

Clive or Luna? Morrick does not even know her.”

“Maybe Paulus knows something we don’t,” Legis says, but

doubt clouds his voice.

What are they talking about? The creature mentioned this

King Paulus.

My stomach growls, reminding me it’s been nearly two day’s

since I’ve eaten anything. I leave the tent.

Legis is turning a rabbit over the fire, and he looks up at

me. “Good morning.” I’m surprised he’s spoken to me after last

night’s events.

“Legis.” I sit on the log across from him. Tristan gets up and

leaves without a word. So he’s still angry.

Legis focuses on the rabbit. When he feels it’s done, he takes

it off the stick that has been pierced through its body and starts

cutting it up with a small dagger. He places three large leaves—

they look like dock leaves, the ones you use when you get stung

by nettles—on the log beside him and equally divides the rabbit

meat between the three of us.

He hands a leaf across to me. “Thank you, Legis.” I raise my

tied hands since he obviously missed that small detail. “Could

you untie me?”

“You will have to wait for Tristan to come back.” Legis

doesn’t meet my eyes; instead, he starts eating his own meal.

“I haven’t eaten anything in two days. Untie me, please.”

His face darkens. “If I were you I would stay quiet.” So he

hadn’t forgotten last night after all.

A half an hour later, Tristan returns from wherever he was.

All of Legis’s food is gone and mine is cold at this stage. Tristan

looks at the two leaves on the log and then at Legis. He kneels

down in front of me with a small dagger. “If you try to escape,

I will tie your hands and legs every day. Understand?”

When he looks up at me with his green eyes, my breath catches

in my throat. This close, I can see flecks of gold amidst his iris.

Also, a few days’ growth of stubble has started to appear, giving

him a rugged look.

His eyes search my face. “Do you understand?”

A blush creeps into my cheeks. How long was I staring at him?

I drop my gaze and lift my up my hands. “Yes, I understand.”

He cuts the rope.

Rubbing my raw, red wrists gives me some relief. Tristan

hands me my leaf of rabbit meat. I take it and start eating

immediately.

“I never heard you in the desert.” I was more thinking out

loud. It was something that had bothered me—two horses

coming through the desert, yet they were silent.

“You were ready to collapse when we found you,” Legis says,

causing me to look at him.

“Yeah, I was.” But I should’ve heard them.

Legis turns to Tristan with a look of surprise and curiosity

on his face.

Chapter Eight

Saskia

(Sarajane)

We set off on the horses again, until the sand under

their hooves gives way to green grass. There is dew

on the grass, giving it a frosty effect. The sun is high

in the sky and there isn’t as much as a small breeze now. Sweat

has gathered all over my body. We push on through the green

grass. My hands are still tied, so there isn't much of a chance to

escape. If I’d just waited until we were out of the desert, I might

have gotten away.

“We are close to a spring, if you want to get washed before we

arrive.” Tristan’s breath brushes my hair as he speaks, making

me shiver. A wash sounds perfect, but I’m not taking a wash in

front of these men.

“No, I’m fine.” I know I smell anything but fine. I smile, a

little payback.

We rest after two hours of heavy travelling. The horses need

water and a break. Tristan helps me off the horse and releases

my hands while conferring me another warning before giving

me water. As if I could run with both of them watching me.

I sit down in the long grass. The sun hasn’t dried up the dew.

It soaks into my trousers, but what does it matter? I could be

dead in a few hours. Trees spread evenly apart, letting enough

sun in, yet offering shelter. The shape of the trees reminds me of

hands spread out facing upwards. It’s a little creepy that I haven’t

heard as much as a bird since I arrived in this world. I watch

as Tristan rubs his horse down, whispering to her about what

a great girl she is. He’s better with the animals than humans.

We arrive at a large cave. Its mouth looks daunting. This

is where my life ends. Tristan helps me off the horse with a

gentleness I haven’t felt before. Could he sense the turmoil

within me? Gazing into the depth of his eyes tells me he feels

guilty about how afraid I look.

Why feel guilty? I don’t let these thoughts linger; they could

end up being my downfall. To trust someone or even care for

him would be a mistake.

I drop my gaze and take in my surroundings to distract my

active mind. The area is barren. A few bushes rustle in a slight

breeze that’s started to blow, yet the sky is cloudless. Is this

the last time I’ll see the sky? Home has never felt so far away.

Taking a deep breath, I try and steady myself and follow Tristan

into the cave.

Inside, the cave is lit up with torches attached to the walls

of the long corridor. I keep on Tristan’s heels until he makes

a sharp left turn into a large room. A fire burns in the centre,

outlined with rocks that are blackened from constant use. Other

than the fire, the room is empty.

The sound of stone grinding makes me look away from the

flames. My eyes don’t adjust straight away, as sparks still dance

in front of me. They’re soon replaced with Tristan pushing in

stones on the cave’s wall. A click sounds; the part he pressed on

slides back, letting in a draft of air that makes the flames dance

wildly along the cave walls. A tunnel all lit up with torches

stretches out before me. I can’t see what’s at the end, as it curves

to the right.

Tristan waits patiently for me to step completely into the

tunnel. My fear of small spaces has rendered me frozen in the

secret doorway, but a gentle nudge from Legis pushes me on.

I take another deep breath to steady my frantic heartbeat. I

glance at Tristan to try and read his face for what to expect,

but it shows me nothing, perfectly blank. Legis joins us and the

door slides shut with a thud that feels so final.

Light from the torches gleams on the dagger that Tristan

holds in his right hand as he approaches me. Panic rises. Why

kill me now? I move back, but am held still by Legis. Now I’m

face to face with Tristan. I close my eyes and await my fate. The

sound of rope hitting the stone floor and the free feeling in my

wrists makes my eyes flash open. There’s a glint of amusement

in Tristan's eyes and then I’m faced with his broad back as he

walks on down the tunnel. I follow as I rub my raw wrists.

Every step makes me more nervous.

Tristan steps through an archway into another large room.

He moves aside and I’m faced with six people, but it’s only one

that makes my heart race. My mind isn’t sure if what I’m seeing

is real.

“Mum?” I whisper.

She holds me in her arms as I let my emotions free and cry.

The smell of freshly cut grass and lavender encircles me, turning

my cries into low sobs. She brushes my hair with her hand,

relaxing my body.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” I say while taking in my mother's

appearance. She looks the same, but there’s a sadness wrapped

around her, giving her appearance a grey shadow. I’m startled

by my own analysis, but she kisses my forehead, wiping these

thoughts away and replacing them with joy.

“Yes, it is me, love. Are you hungry?” She turns on mother

mode. Taking me by the elbow, she leads me through the room

that seems to serve as a sitting room and a kitchen. The floors

are bare, just concrete, but they’re swept and free of any dirt.

Large red armchairs are positioned around a fire in a large

circle; a couch lies behind them, covered in sheepskin. There

are large paintings of what look like kings and queens, framed

in gold. Red material is held onto the walls and draped down

to the floor.

My mother leads me to a large table that could hold up to

fourteen people. The chairs with tall backs look heavy and are

covered in a royal blue lush fabric. When I sit, I am surprised to feel cushion under me. I was awaiting hard wood. I can see my reflection in the perfectly polished table. I look exactly how I feel—bewildered, confused and tired. Large dark circles have formed under my eyes; my hair looks like a crow’s nest. A bowl of soup slides in front of me and I can no longer see myself, thankfully.

My mother hands me a spoon. “You are safe now. We will

talk later, but first, eat and then we will get you cleaned up.” I

squeeze her hand just to make sure she’s real. She watches me

as I eat. Every time our eyes meet we smile at each other. The

others are talking, but I don’t strain to hear their conversation.

I just focus on my mother. She introduces me to Alana, the

maiden, after I eat my soup.

“I am Alana. I have a bath ready for you, my lady.” Alana is

beautiful with strawberry-blond straight hair and a full fringe

that draws you to her eyes. They are a deep blue, but her left iris

is circled in an unusual gold band. Her tall, slim figure would be

suitable to the catwalk, and her pale complexion doesn’t make

her look ill, just flawless. I disliked her already. She smiles at

me self-assuredly and escorts my mother and me to what Mum

calls my sleeping chambers.

The furnishings and material are something you might

expect to see in a castle. The first thing my eyes take in is a huge

four-poster bed that dominates the room, covered in snow-

white linen. A heavy chest rests at the foot of the bed. Alana

removes a full-length, simple purple dress and lays it on the bed

carefully. The floor has a royal blue carpet that my feet sink

into. A large bronze bath is placed to the right of the bed and

steam billows from the boiling water.

“Alana, could you help me?” my mother asks. Alana bustles

across the room to where my mother is standing beside a large

mirror. The gold-framed mirror is wide enough to reflect five

people standing side by side. They push it farther down the

room, revealing a fire that is already stacked with logs, and my

mother lights it. There are no windows in the room; the only

light comes from the torches along the walls placed about five

feet apart.

After I gape at the room, my mother helps me remove my

clothes. Her hands linger on my wrists and anger radiates from

her. “Who did this?” She meets my eyes with the fierce stare of

a mother frightened for her child.

“I tried to escape.” I take off my tunic to avoid any more

questions. She helps me with the rest of my clothes, her anger

still covering her like oil poured on water.

The water is hot, but I lower myself slowly, letting my body

adjust to the temperature. I close my eyes and try and relax. I

can hear my mother gathering my dirty clothes.

“Why didn’t they just tell me you were here?” I ask.

She meets my gaze with sadness. “Would you have believed

them?” She lets the question linger, but when I don’t answer,

she picks up my boots with her free hand and turns to Alana. “I

will be back shortly.” She smiles at me and closes the half-circle

door as she leaves.

I sink farther into the bath. I wouldn’t have believed Tristan,

not in a million years, if he told me he was taking me to my

mother. She knows me so well.

“My lady, I will wash your hair.” Alana holds a jug and small

bottles of what I presume is shampoo.

Feeling exposed in front of her causes colour to creep into my

cheeks. My embarrassment turns to anger. “Don’t call me my

lady,” I snap.

“Shall I call you princess?” Her voice holds a hint of laughter.

She’s making fun of me. My face reddens.

“No. Sarajane.”

“Very well, Sarajane.” She gives me a little curtsy, smartly.

What’s with this girl? Her hands move expertly across my scalp,

massaging the shampoo into my hair. It smells like coconut.

Stepping out of the bath, I’m then wrapped in a towel that

covers me from my shoulders to my feet. Alana lets me face

the mirror as she combs through my tangled hair. My mother

returns. Between the two of them, they dress me and tug at

me. The girl that looks back at me is a princess. I smile at her,

causing her to smile back.

My mother meets my eyes in the mirror. “Purple suits you,

love.” She’s right; it makes my grey eyes look more unusual and

my tan sets the dress off nicely. The simple gold sandals on my

feet are easy to walk in. It’s a little bit of heaven.

When we return to the main room, it’s empty and Alana

serves us tea while we sit in the large armchairs beside the fire.

I take a sip and it leaves a funny taste in my mouth.

“I don’t know where to start,” my mother admits.

“Mum, it’s okay. You’re alive. That’s the most important

thing. Dad and Jessica will be ecstatic.” My mother’s face grows

more worried. This must be bad.

We sit looking at each other for a few moments and finally

she tells me, “This is my home.” Not what I was expecting, but

I try to keep my face neutral. “I was twenty-five and pregnant

with you. At the time there were rumours of trouble brewing so

I left and crossed over to the mortal world.”

I don’t respond. All I think of is that I’m from this world.

That begins to sink in and then my mind is in overdrive with

questions that I never get to voice. My face must relate my

conflict.