Chapter Seven
The tangled smoldering remnants of a bridge took on a golden glow, as the sun's rays slowly stole over the horizon. Nearby, a motionless form lay half-submerged at the edge of a swollen river. Swift brown waters swirled through a dark mop of matted hair and swept over the waterlogged body, threatening to carry him along with them.
Suddenly a broken tree limb rushed past caroming off his shoulders. The senseless figure issued a low moan from deep within. A gurgled breath expulsed a stream of water from his bloodied mouth. Choking, the man rolled partly onto one side and tried to catch a gulp of air that didn't make his lungs burn. One eye slowly squinted open against a morning sun that seemed excruciatingly bright; the other was swollen shut encased in a dark purplish bruise.
The scene blurred and wavered, as his vision tried to focus. A few trees, then water came into view. Nothing about the surroundings was familiar to him. Something was dreadfully wrong, but the cloud of confusion refused to lift. He became aware only by the sound of water lapping against his chest that he lay partly submerged. The current swaddled him in numbing cold, and he could not feel his legs. He vaguely sensed he was restricted in his movements but failed to realize his arms were tied. Had he seen his battered face and torso, he might have been grateful for the river's anesthetizing effect. Gradually, as awareness returned, he began to experience a torment that rippled through his body with each movement.
Steeling himself against the breath-robbing pain, he slowly brought his knees up under his chest. The muddy bank sucked at his limbs, only grudgingly releasing him from its grasp. He inched up the Himalayan incline, every movement agonizing. Several times he lost ground, sliding helplessly back toward the river's edge, the failure frustrating him to near tears. Gasping with the effort, he finally mounted the bank and carefully rolled away from its lip. He propped a sore shoulder against the trunk of a nearby tree and fulcrumed his way shakily to his feet. His bruised cheek scraped against the rough bark, as he paused to rest.
His breathing steadily became less labored. After several moments he weakly pushed away and began to stagger ahead. What little awareness he had still brought no recognition of his whereabouts. His instincts, however, were very much intact. Without knowing exactly why, he realized to remain there could be hazardous. He stumbled forward, mechanically trailing the narrow strip of ground that flanked the river and provided the solitary guide for his steps.
Remaining upright was a never-ending battle. Every time he fell, the impact sent waves of anguish avalanching over his entire body. With each collapse he lay crumpled against the sodden earth for longer and longer periods. Once again, he suddenly found himself lying on the ground. Turning gingerly onto one side, he noticed a growing band of scavengers watching from where they circled overhead. The sun beat down, taunting him, as the dark shapes glided in lazy arcs across the blazing sky. Delirious, he felt the ravenous longing in their burning black eyes. He forced himself to blink, unsteadily willing the sensation away. Summoning his flagging energy he once more began the ceaseless struggle to upright himself.
HH HH HH
The horse's saucer-like eyes blinked anxiously, its yellowed molars grinding intently against a metal bit. The ears were plastered against its broad head as it turned to look behind.
"Giddup now," the man urged, trying to coax the sway-backed horse to maneuver the creaking bridge.
It was the same challenge as usual. The roan balked whenever asked to pull the wagon across the rickety structure. Frustrated, the man glanced at the blond woman beside him who was trying to conceal obvious signs of amusement behind a shielding hand. He gave the reins a more commanding slap.
"Hey, now, giddup!"
The horse looked back again, its tail swishing impassively.
"Perhaps it would help if Erik and I got down from the wagon?" the woman asked, trying to be helpful.
He shrugged indifferently. The horse had a mind of its own, and he doubted their easing the load would make much difference.
"If you want to, Marise."
Smiling good-naturedly, she carefully alighted from the front bench seat before reaching up to help a young boy sitting between them. A slight, frail-looking child, he silently slipped his small hand inside hers. They walked together across the bridge that was barely wider than a footpath. The creaking behind them signaled the reluctant horse had finally followed, the bridge straining beneath the weight of the oaken cart. The woman looked back, laughing silently at the man atop the wagon who rolled his eyes in annoyance at the horse's obstinacy.
He pulled the cart alongside the two figures and extended a hand to help her back up. She shook her head, the golden strands of hair that had worked their way loose from the bun at the back of her head shimmering in the light.
"It feels good to walk for a while," she replied.
The day was turning out to be nicer than initially anticipated. They'd had a damp start for their early morning return from the market. But now the sun was re-warming the earth and drying the shrinking puddles the boy aimed for with each lunging step. The woman slowly arched her back, thankful for the brief respite from the jolts of the wagon's hard bench seat. A tug on her skirt caused her to look down expectantly at her son.
"What is it, Erik?"
He pointed wordlessly at the sky and the dark shapes that were tracing slow circular paths above.
Shading the bright sun from her eyes with one hand, she peered at the creatures.
"They're just birds."
She glanced quizzically at her son, wondering at the reason for his peculiar fascination. His dark blue eyes stared back up at her, the curiosity in them unabated. She appealed mutely to the red-haired man still atop the wagon. He followed the boy's gaze, his bearded face briefly registering a look of unease.
"Not just birds. They're vultures."
The boy's eyes continued to pose a silent query.
Still grasping the reins, the man slipped off the cart and walked to where the pair stood. Bending to one knee, he looked attentively into the boy's eyes.
"It's all right, Erik," he began carefully. "There's just an animal in the woods ready to..."
Clearing his throat, he glanced uncertainly at Marise. She nodded for him to continue.
"…ready to die because it…is very old. The birds won't hurt us. They're only interested in whatever it is out there that will give them a chance to eat."
In an intentional distraction he patted the boy reassuringly on his shoulder and pointed ahead on the path.
"Want to see who can pick the biggest bouquet of flowers for your mother?" he asked, the tanned skin lining his sea-green eyes crinkling in a grin, as he rose to his feet.
Smiling shyly in return, Erik nodded, his face momentarily as carefree as any normal eight-year-old in a more peaceful world. He began to skip ahead on the path, crossing from side to side each time he spied a colorful patch.
Handing over the reins with affected nonchalance, the man grinned at the woman beside him.
"He's all yours, Marise."
He glared at the horse watching him with one sideways eye from where it nibbled impassively at tall grasses sprouting along the edge of the road.
"Behave yourself," he ordered the roan.
Marise laughed, her eyes sparkling.
"Better get moving, Jan," she chided amicably. "Erik has quite a lead on you."
She nodded in the boy's direction. His small fist was tightly clenched around a growing bouquet of wildflowers generously interspersed with weeds that appeared to him even more handsome offerings.
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Hogan stumbled along numbly. The river had long ago branched off, narrowing to pass through a stone culvert beneath a dirt road. The gentle incline to the road presented an almost insurmountable barrier, but he finally managed to summit it, staggering down the path. His head seemed oddly hot and heavy, as though several times its normal size, and resonated with an incessant distracting hum. The disabling loss of his arms inexplicably continued, but he barely took notice.
He tried licking his cracked lips, but his tongue felt swollen and dry. He was tormented by the fading memory of the river, regretful that he had not quenched his thirst before leaving it behind. His heavy-lidded eyes caught hold of a reflection from a shallow ditch that paralleled the road. There, cupped in the ground, was a meager offering of rainwater. His legs, shaking with fatigue and raw nerves, barely carried him to the puddle's edge. He fell to his knees, leaning forward, but the murky liquid remained out of reach. Collapsing onto one side, he extended himself until his face felt wetness, and he greedily drank from the brackish pool.
It was only moments before the inevitable spasms wracked his exhausted body. Any remaining strength was sapped by the forceful retching. Drained and feverish, he finally gave in to the blackness that longed to enshroud him.
HH HH HH
"Jan, when we get home why don't we…"
Marise's face blanched, as her voice trailed off mid-sentence. They'd rounded a bend in the road to find Erik statue-like by the side of a shallow ditch. He was trembling uncontrollably, and the bouquet of wildflowers lay broken and scattered at his feet. His eyes were riveted unseeing on a mud-caked form collapsed on the ground.
Her heart pounding in her chest, Marise raced to Erik's side. One arm cradled him against her shaking legs. She reached out imploringly with the other as Jan cautiously approached the misshapen figure. A puzzled look swept across his face. It took several seconds to determine it was a human body. The figure appeared to be dressed all in black, making the victim's darkly mottled hands, oddly cupped behind his back, almost indistinguishable from the clothing. Jan bent down, peering with guarded curiosity, and noticed with a start the hands and forearms were tightly bound with rope. He suddenly realized the restraints added to his own uneasiness. Jan glanced around quickly, listening for others. A grim expression on his face, he wedged one boot beneath the body and tried pushing it over on its back. He dreaded what he might find.
Marise bit back a shriek, as the form groaned and then feebly attempted to move.
"Mig God, han er skønt levende!"
Startled, Jan sucked in his breath and then swallowed hard. Marise was right; he was alive, but only barely. Given the man's evident condition he almost wished he had instead found him dead. He knelt down and grasped the shoulders with his broad hands to gently roll him over. Strands of black matted hair were plastered across an unfamiliar face. Even the thick streaks of mud and dried blood were unable to conceal the severe bruises and lacerations it bore. Clad all in black, the man's clothes looked to be coated with silt that had begun to dry to a shimmering patina. Jan felt the dampness still clinging to the fabric and realized he had been dragged through water or submerged.
His fingers found a thready pulse after several seconds of searching. Jan looked up and shook his head.
"I don't think he's going to make it, Marise."
Marise darted a look in both directions of the road. She, too, was aware his state signaled possible danger. Her eyes closed for a moment, as though seeking guidance for her decision. Taking a deep breath, she spoke, a firm conviction strengthening her voice.
"We can't leave him here."
"Er du halvtosset?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm not crazy. I don't care what trouble he's gotten himself into, not even an animal deserves to be left to die in a ditch."
Jan was more than familiar with that edge to her voice. He knew there would be no arguing with her. Begrudgingly, he nodded, though his eyes worriedly gestured toward the small boy whose face was still buried in the folds of her skirt. Marise silently indicated her understanding. She knelt down, taking the boy's pallid face in her hands.
"Erik, you have to be a grown boy for me now. There's something I need you to do."
Wiping his tear-stained cheeks with the back of one hand, the boy nodded hesitantly. Marise led him slowly to the nearby wagon. She knelt down, grasping him under his arms and lifted him with a grunt onto the front bench seat. Placing the reins in his hands, she looked him firmly in the eyes.
"It's very important you not let go of these reins. We want to make sure the cart does not move while we load something into the back. Lave jer opfatte?"
Gulping a breath, Erik nodded again. Marise smiled comfortingly.
"That's my boy."
Her hand tousled his sand-colored hair.
"Don't forget. Keep your eyes on the horse so he doesn't move."
Marise turned away, quickly rejoining Jan by the man's side.
"Erik will be distracted for a while," she whispered, surveying the body. "Don't you think we should cut those ropes first?"
Jan looked taken aback and stared, open-eyed, at her.
"Marise, don't you realize those might mean he's a criminal? What if he's dangerous?"
Sighing, Marise rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Well, if he is, he certainly doesn't look to be in a condition to cause us any harm now, does he?"
Reluctantly, Jan agreed. Marise appeared to be right once again. He rose to his feet and grimly walked toward the wagon's bed. Throwing back a stained oil cloth, he rummaged through a wooden box. Returning to the figure's side, Jan glanced at Marise before turning him face down once more, knife in hand. The man groaned again, this time more weakly than before. Fearful of causing further pain, Jan carefully worked the knife's tip beneath the strands of rope. The wrists were bound so tightly he wasn't sure at first he could sever the bindings without cutting into him. Slowly a frayed section separated, freeing the arms that rolled lifelessly to the body's side. The braided strands still clung to the swollen and inflamed flesh around his wrists. Marise gasped.
"We'll have to leave them for now," Jan said. "It will take some effort to remove that rope without causing more injury."
Marise nodded her agreement. Handing her the knife, Jan carefully grasped the man under his arms, raising his torso off the ground. He slowly dragged him, heels grinding against the dirt, toward the back of the wagon. Huffing with the effort, Jan paused for a moment before shouldering the body onto the wagon bed. Marise watched anxiously from the bench seat where she had joined Erik, still tightly clutching the reins. She noticed the man had stopped responding to their touch. An intent scan finally detected his ribs rising in a slow, shallow rhythm. Jan looked at her with a dismal expression, as he drew the oil cloth over the body, concealing it from view.
"I hope this is worth the trouble," he said skeptically, stepping on board the wagon that rocked in protest.
She hesitated. She wasn't sure it was. But something refused to let her ignore this stranger's plight. Too many people were turning a blind eye to the events around them. It was the reason they found themselves in this predicament in the first place. She wouldn't be a party to further apathy, regardless of the consequences.
"Jan Ernest, if others had felt it was worth the trouble perhaps Henrik would not have been returned to us in the condition he was in." Her voice trembled.
He hung his head guiltily. "Sorry, Marise. I didn't mean…"
She touched his arm gently. "I know you didn't, Jan. Never mind."
Marise smiled at him understandingly. "Just get us home safely. We can deal with things there."
Jan slapped the reins against the horse's chestnut-dappled back. The cart creaked its way along the path, carrying their disturbing cargo.
Continued in Chapter Eight
Author's Note: My apologies for taking so terribly long to update this story. Thank you all for your patience and continued interest in one very soggy POW. The muse of inspiration seems to be finally whispering in my ear, and I hope to be able to post more regular progress on this tale!