Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Unexpected Choice

"Thanks for all you've told me," Natan said to Orik as he closed the gate.

Orik leaned heavily on his staff, rubbing the spot someone had tried to hamstring him, and grinned toothily. "My an' Adonai's pleasure. Do come back soon."

Natan adjusted the pack Orik had rescued from where it was abandoned in the forest and shifted against the unfamiliar weight of his sword on his right. "I'll try. I have to talk to Maru first."

"You sure she won't min' comin' t' live wit' me all th' way out here? Not many visitors or anythin', least not anyone who isn't very lost." Tamber pushed his head under Orik's hand and he obliged, scratching him behind the ears like a pet hound.

Natan shook his head, only letting a fraction of his nervousness dissolve into his tone. "I'll make her see it's the only way. With our debt and my bad arm, it's better if we just start over."

Start over. This time, he'd seek Adonai's light properly and hopefully gain His blessing, or at least live out the rest of his days in peace. He was more than happy to leave his former life of trading behind, if that was what it took to discover the depths of the meaning of Adonai's mercy.

Maru, however, would need convincing. But unless they wanted to remain Firot's slaves and bathe in shame for the rest of their lives, there wasn't another way. Natan looked ruefully at his useless right arm hanging limply under his cloak. Tampul would've spread the news of his bewitchment far and wide by now, and as with all juicy rumors it would travel faster than a packgort could run. Once the men of Liron heard of it, he'd never be able to sell anything to anyone there again, and his bad arm would mark him as the bewitched man to anyone looking wherever he went. It was better to pretend he was dead and start over. Then no one would be looking for a man with a paralyzed arm.

"Adonai bless your journeys," Orik said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I'll be hopin' t' see you back before winter's out."

Natan dipped his head and fingered his pack strap, reluctant to leave. "You too."

The first snow crunched under his feet as he turned away and headed west-south, to where the road from Barzof would eventually be, and beyond that, Liktof and Liron. The sound of Tamber's parting moo echoed after him like the seagulls that had called as Natik had stepped onto the ship that would take him away, longing and mournful, as if they were never going to meet again.

Stop thinking like that, he told himself. There was no reason to believe he'd never return. Adonai had brought him this far, and it didn't make sense He would let him die when he'd just found the beginning of the answers he'd been ordered to seek. He must've been more reluctant to leave Orik's farmstead than he realized. Or more nervous about running into someone who knew him than he'd like to admit.

The hunters would've moved on days ago. He was going to skip the nearest few villages, anyway. He'd have to conceal his arm, but otherwise he should be fine. When he had been on the hunt with the others in this area, the Larkwing girl had stayed deep in the forest and they had followed. They hadn't stayed in any villages where his face would be known. Closer to Liron, though, that was a different question.

He must've misjudged the direction of the nearest road because he ended up walking into a village shortly before dark. Natan considered turning around and heading back into the forest, but there were a couple of curious stares following him already and turning back now would lead to all sorts of interesting rumors. He slowed beside someone's livestock pen and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Was he just being cowardly again? It was this type of thinking that had gotten him stabbed by Tampul in the first place. Natan shifted to his other foot, hesitating. What was the brave, not the cowardly thing to do?