Silas stroked his beard. A beardless time. He could move around the city unnoticed, find a ship to gain passage on. He’d work hard as payment if gold alone wouldn’t do. If this bastard allows it. He stretched out his leg. A fresh start. No more killing, no more Shadows, no more booze. A family, maybe? I don’t care where. I just can’t stay here. He pushed the ale away. No more.
Less than a minute passed before he pulled it back to down it.
Mara sat against a fallen tree on the edge of the Shadow Forest. He looked out over the Blood Plain, which looked nice as the orange sun came up over it, but he still dreaded going through the flies once again. I wonder if I’ll get a nice bed? Like the one in the village tavern.
The Shadow hadn’t gotten off the horse to join him, but stayed within the trees, a couple of rows back. “Are you sure he’s coming?” Mara said.
The Shadow, motionless, didn’t respond.
I wonder if it’s asleep? Maybe I should go to sleep. There isn’t anything else to do. He looked back out over the field and squinted at a dark blob in the distance. Is that something?
The shape drew slowly closer and revealed itself to be someone on a horse. Silas? All the Shadow Master had said was that Mara must follow all instructions given. Nothing about who was coming.
“Is that Silas?” Mara asked the Shadow.
The Shadow said nothing.
Stupid thing. The person on the horse blew out smoke every so often. Silas didn’t smoke before. Maybe it’s not him. Why’s his horse walking so slowly? Don’t they care about the flies?
As the man approached, the Shadow came out from the trees on its horse and stood in front of Mara. The man took off his wide-brimmed hat to show his short, grey hair, the same colour as his stubble. He looked dirty, like he hadn’t washed for a long time. Has he been punched in the nose? His nose had a dark tip and thin purple-red lines that spread across the rest of it and onto his cheeks.
The man flicked his roll-up on the floor, a thin line of smoke curling from it. He coughed loudly, then hacked up a ball of phlegm and spat it in the same direction as the roll-up. He rolled another smoke as he looked at Mara. “Is this it?” His voice sounded like he had a sore throat. “Thought he’d be bigger.”
The Shadow tossed a bag to the man that sounded like it had coins in it. “You will be contacted weekly.”
The man opened the bag, looked in, then tucked it away. “Then I’ll be paid weekly.”
The Shadow turned its horse and walked back into the forest. The man lit his roll-up. He looks old.
The man spat again. “You ’ungry?”
“Yes,” Mara said.
“Better get moving then. It’ll be dark by the time we get to Sevens Helm. Don’t wanna get stuck out here after dark. Gets fuckin’ cold, and I ain’t getting cold for you, so you better keep up.”
Keep up? Mara stood and walked toward the horse. The man turned it and walked away. “Hey, wait a minute.”
“Ain’t got time to wait.”
“Can’t I come on the horse?”
“This is my ’orse, you should’a brought one if you didn’t wanna walk.”
“I haven’t got one.”
“That’s why you’re walkin’. Now come on. We gotta get goin’.” The man kicked the horse, and it walked on.
Mara didn’t know what to say. I have to walk? Why won’t he let me up there? I don’t like him. Mara looked back into the Shadow Forest, then back at the man. He was stuck with him.
They’d walked through the sin grass for hours. Covered in flies, Mara was hot, tired, hungry, and sick of the smell of the man’s sour roll-ups he constantly smoked – a worse smell than came from the grass.
“Can we have a rest?” Mara said.
The man stopped the horse, scratched his neck, then looked up at the blue sky. “What for?”
“My legs are tired.”
“That’s cause you ain’t got an ’orse.” The man reached into a bag tied to the horse’s saddle, pulled out a skinny piece of dried meat, took a bite, and threw the rest at Mara’s feet. “Eat that.”