“Aye,” the other woman says and goes to a boulder where she sits and breathes heavily. The mother takes a seat next to her and unbinds her child, holding it over her shoulder and patting its back.
There is no more room on the rock, so I stand but take the opportunity to stretch my sore muscles and catch my breath. The two women are silent. The only sounds are the breeze whistling through the crags of the mountain and the fussing of the baby.
“What is it yuir wearing?” the woman asks.
I’m bent over trying to touch my toes and get my back to stretch, arms hanging low. Looking at my legs I realize I’m still wearing jeans. If only I was clever enough with magic to change outfits. That would be a useful skill in any situation.
“New style,” I say.
“Style from where?” the mother asks. “Seems unsightly to be wearing things so tight. Enticing the devil’s interest.”
I know too well how fast her train of thought could go bad. I straighten, flash a smile, and walk closer.
“My name is Quinn,” I say. “What’s your names?”
“And what is yuir so happy about, Quinn? Did you nae lose kinfolk too?” the mother asks as her baby lets out a belch that any drunken frat boy would be proud of.
“Hush,” the other woman says. “We’ve enough to worry about without your attitude, Besse.”
Besse has the decency to look at least slightly abashed. She shifts the baby in her arms off her shoulder and works the wrap back around it before looking at me. Besse has dark brown hair pulled into a tight braid from which a lot of stray hairs have broken free. She might be pretty in other circumstances, but her face is dirty and puffy from both crying and exertion. She has hazel eyes and a hook in her nose shows where it was probably broken. Besse looks me over, purses her lips, then shakes her head.
“Aye, I am sorry,” she says, running the back of her hand over her forehead.
“It’s fine,” I say. “This is hard.”
The other woman snorts. “Hard. Nice way to put it. I’m Catte. I assume you’re a MacGregor?”
My mind races as a million thoughts collide in my head and I can’t come up with an answer. I don’t want to say no, because they’ll never trust me, but I don’t want to lie. The sound of more people catching up to us saves me.
The two women jump off the boulder as fast as lightning as I turn to face the oncoming sound. The familiar warmth of magic crackles across my flesh but it’s a trickle and I don’t know I could do anything with it if I tried.
People stagger out from the mists in groups ranging from two to six. There are close to fifty people by the time the last emerges, almost all women and children. The only men who arrive are elderly and a handful of boys whom I’d guess are all less than ten years old. I scan the arrivals looking for any familiar faces but there’s not a one.
My stomach sinks. Is everyone I know gone? An empty ache fills my heart as I think of the clan I left behind while the newcomers huddle around the central boulder and converse with each other, sharing their lineage in short bursts.
While they rest and talk, I walk around the perimeter and look around. It looks like we’re in a valley, which makes me uneasy. The walls are too steep to climb, especially with all these elderly and children. A weird sensation forms in my head, like an itching inside of my skull. I scratch my head, but it doesn’t help.
“We should keep moving,” I say, walking back to the group.
The lot of them are haggard. Fear and exhaustion are clearly written across their faces, and many of them are soot stained and smell of smoke. I don’t know how long they’ve been running or what horrors they’ve endured so far, but there is no doubt they are close to their limits. It doesn’t matter though because I am sure we’re not safe.
There are mutters and complaints but all of them rise from their rest and gather their belongings. The itching sensation in my head increases and the stronger it becomes the more uneasy I am. Dread is the only way I can describe it. I know, somehow, that something is going to happen, and it will be bad.
I fall to the back of the group. I’m not sure what, if anything, I can do to save them, but I figure I have the best chance of anyone here, so I bring up the rear and herd them along as we move higher. The walls of the valley close in as we march, a ragtag group of survivors with no clear destination.
There is little in the way of conversation. No one has the energy to talk and if they did, what do you say? Their entire world has been destroyed. Friends, family, and loved ones captured or killed, and now they’re being hunted like animals.
A single dog’s howl echoes from the stone walls, bouncing from one side to the other in a sick demonstration of stereophonic sound. Adrenaline hits, making my heart race as sweat covers my skin. I look back and even the swirling mist looks menacing. Then another dog answers the first one’s howl and we hear barking.
“Run,” I yell. “Run, don’t look back.”
No one questions the command. It’s not like I’m ordering them to do what they weren’t already thinking. As people stumble and fall, I move back and forth, helping them back to their feet. Pushing them to keep going.
The barking is closer and now I hear the shouts of the hunters who follow them. The itching sensation in my head graduates to a burning as if something has shoved hot iron inside my skull. It’s hard to think clearly. All I can do is put one foot in front of the other while constantly looking side to side for stragglers.
“Oh,” a voice yelps.
I rush to the side of an old man who’s fallen. He’s moaning and trying to fight his way back to his feet. I kneel and place my hands on his shoulders. He looks up with fear in his eyes.