Twenty-Two

When the caravan stopped next, it was in the middle of the night. I’d drifted off to sleep with Maia strapped firmly to my chest, and when I awoke, my arms were still wrapped protectively around her. If not for the drugs still coursing like syrup through my veins, I doubted I would ever sleep again. Sleep was a weakness and a vulnerability that I could no longer afford.

“If you’re going to take a piss, better do it now,” a gruff voice said, knocking on the tarp beside my head. “We won’t be here for long.”

I struggled to pull myself to my feet. I felt stronger now, though still dulled by whatever potion Agatha had concocted for me. It was strong. I had to give her that. She was evil, but she’d somehow known that she’d have to completely destroy my wits if she wanted to take Forrest away from me. She’d immobilized me so well that I wasn’t even aware of the moment he left me, probably screaming for his mother. I wasn’t aware of the moment Maia slipped from my womb, entering an unwelcoming world where already she was unwanted.

But I was regaining my strength. Slowly, yes, but it was coming back. Eventually, I would be strong enough to find her… and kill her.

I wandered over to the edge of a thin line of naked trees. On the other side, I could see miles of wasteland with no population. The land was unbroken by old buildings or roads; it was a vast nothingness. On this side of the trees, I was surrounded by the angry caravan of restless soldiers, the excitement of the journey gone and a worn out temperament of impatience left in its place. Behind us, miles and miles behind us, Agatha enjoyed her blind seeing life, and that rankled me deep in my soul. Miles and miles further away, somewhere in the darkness to the west, Forrest was in some strange land. I hoped that the arms that held him did so with love and tenderness. The thought of any harm coming to him was enough to make my knees weak, and I could barely stand as it was.

Even if I were strong enough to attempt an escape, I had nowhere to run.

I tried to find relative privacy, but hungry eyes watched my every move. It had been days- how many? I had no way of knowing- since we’d left the pleasure tent city behind, and the formerly satiated men were now locking their curious eyes onto me. I was the only woman in the local vicinity. I thought that my mother in law, and perhaps other servants, might be somewhere in this caravan, but I couldn’t be sure. We were separated by thousands of beating hearts.

Finally, I raised the hem of my dirty nightgown to my hips, hating the way it crunched with dried fluids and blood, and I rested my back against the trunk of a tree. I felt the warm urine flow down my legs, ignoring the sting that came with it. The urine combined with blood and the puddle at my feet was tinged with brown. My body needed nourishment, water, and time to heal, but I had nothing to give it. I used part of my gown to pat myself dry and I walked away, holding my head high. Let them watch me bleed, but I would not let them see me cry. Inwardly, I wondered how much longer I could survive this hellish journey, and I agitated over our destination. Wherever we were going couldn’t be worse than this.

I climbed back into the wagon and stood, stretching and surveying my surroundings. As if to mock me, as if to deter my inner struggle to survive, the skies opened up and heavy snowflakes drifted down, landing softly on my baby’s head. I quickly scurried over to the tarp and bundled her up with me inside of the blanket, praying that the storm wouldn’t bury us alive.