Chapter 26: Flight

There was no sound in the dark forest but the horse's hoofbeats. They pounded in rhythm with Logan's throbbing head and throbbing back. He ached, and as his horse splashed through a tiny stream, he eyed the water longingly. Water…clean, cool water, not the stale, tepid stuff they gave the prisoners in the dungeons. But escape was the most important, now; he had to put as much distance between himself and any pursuers that might be coming as he could before he could rest.

At least the horse was saddled. If he had to ride the horse bareback he'd be in agony. With the pain the torturer had inflicted all over his body, the horse's spine digging between his thighs would have caused him unbearable pain. The simple act of riding now was pain too, but having the saddle cushioning his most sensitive parts helped. And though it had been dark, he could feel the horse under him and he knew it was his own horse.

A nice touch. Logan sneered. Did the girl think that he'd trust her if she got his own horse from the stable? Is that why Julian had ordered the black taken out? Did they think that if Logan failed to escape he would be that dejected that he'd tell them what they wanted to know?

Was the girl so stupid that she actually thought Logan would be fooled by this? Logan snorted to himself. He had seen straight through the deception. Jubilee had made some sort of deal with Julian, a deal that allowed her to share Julian's bed and sleep in comfort and luxury while Logan himself was suffering indescribable agony in the dungeons. Self-serving wench. Logan hated her. Hated her with a passion.

And yet…there had been desperation in her scream when she begged him to take her with him. Could she be up in Julian's room against her will, held captive there while Julian did…whatever…with her body? He knew there were subtler forms of torture for women, tortures that could cause terrible pain without leaving a mark. Had Julian done those things to Jubilee? And by leaving her behind, had Logan consigned her to a long, slow, agonizing death?

No. He shook his head. He wouldn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. No matter what the traitorous girl had done, she didn't deserve a death like that. Julian wouldn't be that cruel. No. She had to have been in league with him, had to have come up with this plan to raise hopes in him and then dash them. Dashed hope could be more demoralizing to a prisoner than torture could. Well, Logan had beaten the odds, and he'd escaped. Without the help of the brat.

But now…now he had to stay alive and avoid capture. And if he wanted to do the former, he needed water. He stopped his horse at the next stream they came to, dismounted, and lowered his head to drink. Slowly, though; he resisted the urge to gulp down mouthfuls of water as fast as he could. If he did that he would shock his body and his stomach would cramp up. He didn't need that. So he sipped at the water slowly until his thirst was satisfied.

Fortunately it was summer, so he didn't have to deal with cold temperatures. He had nothing with him, no pack, no blankets, but if he was lucky he wouldn't need anything.

And as if to mock him, the skies opened up and started pouring rain.

He mounted his horse, turned the animal and rode onward. He was on the same trail they'd taken to get here from the battlefield; he was certain of that. He'd seen a curiously-shaped tree about five minutes back down the road that he remembered when he and Jubilee and Julian had come to Gallas's castle, so he knew he was heading the right way. And if he wasn't mistaken, there up ahead was the small copse of trees that should provide some shelter from the rain.

The trees were evergreens, their branches so closely interlocked that very little rain got through. Logan swept a pile of pine needles together and lay down on it, the softness cushioning his burning, throbbing back from the cold ground. He wished he had his things. He wished Lee were here. He would have gotten a fire started, and something…even if it was just some of the dried meat in their packs…dropped into a pot of boiling water over the stove to soften before they ate it. Like he had when they were on their way back to King Richard's castle from the ruins of his village.

Logan shook his head, annoyed with himself, and got up to untack the horse. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Lee didn't exist; 'Lee' was a nonexistent person. Jubilee was Lee; and Logan didn't want her with him right now. No he didn't. She was a traitor, plain and simple, and he didn't want to see her again ever. Not that that was likely; if Julian was giving her fine clothes and scented baths and a comfortable place to sleep and she was taking it, then he didn't want her around. The little traitor.

He slipped into an uneasy sleep.

He blinked.

Three women stood in front of him. One was a tall, indescribably beautiful red-haired woman with emerald eyes; the other woman had long, flowing silver hair and white eyes; and the third woman had thick, dark...purple?...waves falling down her back. Logan squinted at all three of them. "Who are you?" he finally found his voice.

"We are the three fates," the red-haired woman said.

"Witches, you'd call us," the silver-haired woman said.

"Some call us the weird sisters," the third woman said thoughtfully.

Logan raised his eyebrows. "All right, whatever ya are, why are ya in my dream?" he asked.

Red stepped forward. "We are the representatives of your life," she said gently. "Not only this life, but also the next, and the previous lives before this one."

Silver stepped forward. "You have lived many lives, Logan," she said gently. "And you will live many more. There will be many other lives that touch yours; but there is one who will always be entangled in your life. This is she."

Logan blinked again as the third Weird Sister produced a bubbling cauldron from somewhere…he didn't see where…and stirred it. He looked down into the cloud of steam, seeing a girl with short, dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a bright smile, wearing some kind of sleeved cloak made of yellow cloth. When he looked back up, the three beautiful women had turned into three old crones. He blinked. "Excuse me," he said to the crones. "Weren't you just young?"

"Time goes in many directions," The purple-haired sister said, changing to her young form. "We are the daughters of the Goddess, and as such we can take on any of Her forms; the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone."

"I'm not a follower of your Goddess," Logan grumped. "I'm a follower of God, and you are nothing but pagan demons."

Red looked at Silver. "Do these mortals not know that all power in the world comes from the One?"

Silver shook her head, looking amused. "Apparently not, my Sister," she said gently. "Those currently at the head of the religious movement on the mortal plane wish to keep the followers of the White Christ and the followers of the Mother apart. They are simply unwilling…or unable…to see that the White Christ and the Mother are both facets of the same power. However, that is not why we are here, Sisters."

"Back to the matter at hand," said the third Sister. She stirred the cauldron, murmuring an incantation in a musical tongue, and then raised the stirrer. "Look," she told Logan.

Logan leaned over and looked in. At first the image was cloudy, then, as it cleared, he saw a girl, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, paraded in chains before a man wearing a long white toga and the laurel wreath of the long-gone Roman empire. He gasped when he saw the man's face. "That's me!"

"He's perceptive." Red cackled, a dry, old woman's laugh.

Logan ignored her, looking instead into the cauldron. The scene had changed; he and the girl were in an arena now. He had a sword out, facing a huge beast with retractable claws and a thick mane of fur around its face. The girl behind Logan was screaming in terror, and pain, and Logan could see the marks of a claw running down her thigh. He himself was scratched some, but not as seriously as the girl. As Logan watched, the image of himself closed with the beast, and killed it. Then he turned to the girl and took her in his arms, and she kissed him happily. Then clouds of steam hid the scene from his sight as Red took over the stirrer.

When the steam cleared, he saw himself again, this time on a horse. Again, there was a young girl with dark hair and blue eyes, but now she was being beaten by a man wearing dusty breeches and a short tunic tucked into the waist of those strange breeches. His image in the water dismounted, and struck the man beating the girl. The man cringed; the girl cringed. Logan watched his other self kneel down and take the shirt from his own back, draping it over the sun-reddened shoulders of the girl before mounting and riding away. Red gave the cauldron another stir, and when the steam cleared, Logan saw himself hanging on a huge wooden X, with spikes driven through his hands and legs. He watched as a small dark-haired girl approached the man on the cross, looking frightened but determined, and the man saw her. With a supreme effort, he wrenched his hands free of the spikes, a roar of pain shattering the quiet, and as he fell from the cross, the girl caught him, supported him, and helped him away from the cross into a structure behind her.

"Careful, Sister," warned Silver. "It is not given a man to know his own future."

"This is only one of many possible futures," the dark-haired Sister said. "And, Sister, if he does not make the right choice now, what I have shown him will not come to pass, and the circle will be broken in this lifetime."

"And that will affect the life I have shown him," Red said thoughtfully. "This is important, sister. He will never remember this when that time comes. The cauldron would never have shown him what it did if he did not need to see it."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "What choice am I supposed ta make?" he said finally, irritated with these three woman talking about him as though he wasn't there. They turned, startled, as if they had forgotten he was still waiting.

"To save," Red replied.

"Or not to save," Silver said.

The third woman walked up to him. "The choice you make now, Logan, will affect the rest of your life. Not just the rest of this life, but the next one, and the one after that. In the Great Tapestry, Logan, you have just reached a point where you must choose whether to condemn a life to an eternity of darkness, or bind her to you for the rest of your soul's existence. It is your choice. Choose wisely." And suddenly, just like that, they were gone. There one minute, gone the next.

Logan sat bolt upright, gasping as though he'd just run a mile in his armour. As he sat there, trying to collect his scattered thoughts and wits, he tried to remember what the dream was that had startled him so. The last wisps of it were receding from his memory, and all he remembered was that he had a choice to make. An important choice. But he was damned if he could remember what that choice was!

He heaved himself to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his back and legs. He stared down at the saddle he had lain his head on, making a face. Well, if he was this uncomfortable, no wonder he'd had bad dreams. He sighed and picked up the saddle.

The sky was lightening outside; Logan guessed that it was only maybe a half-hour before the sun rose. He heaved the saddle on his horse's back, then carefully mounted himself. He stared down the path he'd come down, wondering why he felt so drawn to go back. Back…to Gallas's fortress, to pick up the traitor girl? No. He would not!

He shook his head, turning the horse down the path he had been heading, and urged the horse into a trot.

A long time later, the trees ended and he stared out at the clear road and the small village ahead. A long way off in the distance, he saw the hazy hills on the border of Gallas's lands. Just past those hills, King Richard waited, all unsuspecting of the traitor back at the castle. Logan paused there for a long moment, undecided. Should he just take the direct road, or should he try to skirt the woods, taking the roundabout way back to the Argonne Hills?

He swayed in his saddle, suddenly dizzy. Food, his brain told him, fuzzily. His stomach rumbled as well. Need food. And water.

He rode down into the town, swaying in his saddle. He leaned his forehead against his horse's mane, and groaned as the ground swayed.

"Sir?" came a tiny voice somewhere down by his stirrup. "Sir, are you okay? You don't look so good." With an effort, Logan tried to look down, concentrate on seeing the owner of the voice, but his blurry eyes refused to focus. He gave up, and felt himself slip down off the saddle, to lie in the dust.

The little girl looked down at the man. "Sir?" she knelt by his side, and tugged at the end of his tunic. "Sir? Are you okay?" Her only answer was a groan. "Hold on, mister. I'll go get help."

Logan was only vaguely aware of the pattering of small feet rushing away from him, and he wondered if she recognized him and was going for a soldier. However, try as he might, he had reached the end of his strength, and while his brain could still think, his body refused to obey the most basic commands he gave it, like opening his eyes.

It wasn't long before he heard the feet coming back. Except it wasn't alone; it sounded like more than one pair. Three coming, at the most. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't even manage that simple act. "See, Da?" said the little voice. "I told you so!"

"Back up, Lianne." The voice was authoritative. "Sir? Do you need help? Are you all right?"

Logan forced his mouth to move. "Water. Food."

A hand touched hi shoulder, and the sudden pain made him cry out. The man took his hand away, and Logan felt the man pushing up the back of the tunic. Then the man cursed. "He's been tortured. This must be the escaped prisoner the soldiers were telling us about." He turned to the little girl. "Lianne. Run back to your Mam. Tell her we've got a visitor who needs help. And tell her not to say a word!" The small girl ran off, and the man turned to Logan. "Good sir, please, if you can, help us get you into your horse's saddle. We'll have to take you both out of the road before Gallas's soldiers find us, and you, here." Strong arms, two pairs of them, lifted Logan, and somehow he managed to scramble wearily into the saddle. The two men walked on either side of the horse, holding up in the saddle, and they turned and made their way down the road into the town. Somewhere along the way, Logan slipped into unconsciousness.

The plump, motherly woman held open the door as her husband and oldest son pulled the limp stranger off the big black horse. "In the guest room," she said briskly. "And then get that big black beast into the stable. We can't risk the soldiers seeing it when they come back down the road. There's spirits and vinegar left from the last time I bleached the linens; use that to bleach some of the beast's hair white. The soldiers are looking for a big black horse, not a black and white patched one. Lianne will help me with the stranger. We'll use some of the stuff ourselves to grey his hair; he's got enough lines on his face to pass for an old man, poor soul." She vanished inside the house, and the two men led the big black into the stables.

She carefully pulled the man's shirt off, with Lianne helping. She sent the girl out of the room with the shirt while she got the dirty, dusty breeches off, and as she did a small golden object fell out of the pocket. She picked it up; it was a tiny golden ring, of the kind women wear, and was engraved with butterflies and had a tiny seal the woman recognized as the one on Richard's flag. She looked at the unconscious stranger, then, with a thoughtful look, she left the gold band on the table beside the stranger's bed.

She studied the deep red welts on the stranger's back, noting the places where riding and exertion had broken through the scabs and caused them to begin bleeding. With her lips set in a thin line, she carefully bandaged the welts and wounds with gentle hands, smearing a homemade salve she kept around the house for cuts and scrapes between the layers of bandaging. Lianne came back with a bit of the bleach in a basin, and the woman busied herself with it, dipping a comb in the solution and pulling it through the tangled black locks. When she finished, the stranger had grey-shot hair, and that, combined with the lines of pain and exhaustion, made him look much older. "Well, that's it, my girl," she told Lianne. "That's all we can do. Let's cross our fingers and pray to the Goddess that the soldiers don't decide to search the house and stables when they come through." She left the room, taking the little girl with her, and shut the door.

Logan slept on.