A/N: Okay, so for Prompt 2! ...No, no wait...Prompt 13, I guess... Oh well! Busy I have been; too busy to spare an hour or so a day for these prompts. But hey, some things are wrapping up so I might have a bit more time now! Here's to hoping, anyway.
Prompt 13 - The Horse and His Boy contains a few kidnappings which were never described in detail (Hwin, Bree, and Cor), pick one to write about. Or an unrelated kidnapping, if you prefer.
The night on Felimath was cool but pleasant, with a few stray clouds and light wind, and the only thing to be heard grasses rustling in the breeze. Antele was watching the sheep.
Antele did not normally watch the sheep, alone and at night, though in the remembered days of her youth it had been a frequent task of hers, and one she had loved. Her father had taught her much about shepherding, about lambing and shearing and retrieving lost sheep before they got stranded on the shale as the tide was coming in. She and her brother Lathan had grown up in the fields, almost, keeping the sheep with Father. She remembered well the first time she had been entrusted the night watch alone—the nerves and the solitude; the responsibility; the elation, in the end, of a job well done. In those days, of course, a young woman could watch the sheep alone at night on Felimath, for it was only from the harm they would do themselves, and from mixing with other herds, that she guarding them. Sheep had no predators on Felimath, and neither did young women.
These days, of course, no one watched the sheep alone, especially no women, and especially at night. Appeals had been made to the Governor's office after the first, and second, and third times shepherds had been beaten or run off and their flocks stolen; but after the fourth time with no response no one bothered, and instead they chose stout men to guard their sheep, and armed them.
So Antele did not—should not—have been watching the sheep alone at night. But Lathan was ill, laid up in bed and delirious with their mother tending him. And Tarost, their hired man, had accompanied a sale of a ram and two ewes to a herdsman in Calormen on the last trading ship. That had left Lathan alone, of course; but Lathan, though younger even than Antele, was whip-smart and skilled with both blade and bow, and he had been confident of his ability to hold the flock himself until Tarost should return. But the fever had laid him low after Tarost had departed. And their father, of course, was long laid to rest under the lily patch in their little garden on Doorn.
So Antele had no choice but to watch the sheep alone on Felimath tonight. She stood, back to the flock, wool coat wrapped snugly around her shoulders against the faint chill of the breeze, and even more against the anxiety in her heart. Her light hunting bow was strung and ready in her hand, and her long straight knife, with which she had some skill, was belted at her waist.
Aslan, she prayed, Let them not come tonight. Help me do my best, if they do—but let them not come tonight!
Midnight came, and passed. Antele paced to keep herself awake, and keep her limbs warm and ready for action. The wind rose and whipped her cloak around her; the waxing moon set and the stars were obscured by the streaming clouds.
A noise; a movement; a rustle in the grass.
"Hold!" she cried, raising her bow and stringing an arrow. "Who goes there?"
At first there was no answer. Then the shape of a man rose from a small dell, dark hands raised against the light of the stars in token of peace.
"Just another herdsman, miss," he said, unconcerned with the strung bow in her hand. He walked toward her. "Quiet tonight, i'nit?"
"Stay back, sir," Antele warned, holding her ground despite her racing heart and the desire to step back into the flock, however little shield that might be. You are their protection; they are not yours. "I don't know you, and these are suspicious times."
He continued forward, though he raised his hands again. "Suspicious they are; I thought you might need help? Move our flocks nearer for the night, and guard them together?"
Antele raised the bow and drew the arrow back to her cheek. "Hold!" she cried more forcefully. Her arm shook; she doubted, now, whether if she released she could even hit the man; but hopefully he would not suspect her fear.
He stopped obligingly. "Please, miss, I don't mean to harm you none," he wheedled.
"Step back!" Antele ordered. He did so, and she let out the tension on her string, though left the arrow nocked. "I appreciate—"
But the moment her bow relaxed, strong arms grasped hers, wrenching them behind her back. The bow and arrow fell from her shocked and suddenly nerveless grasp. The knife was wrenched from her belt.
"Well, if it isn't a little shepherdess," a voice said sneeringly in her ear. "You're not trying to keep these sheep, are you?"
"No!" Antele yelled, "Stop, let me go!" She strugged mightily, but to no avail.
"I think we'll be taking these," the sneering man continued, "but…hmm. You've got some spirit, too, haven't you, girl? Hey, Ankon, get over here!" The shadow Antele had been originally talking to came closer. "You said your uncle's got connections to the Calormene slave market, right? What's the going rate for a lady such as this?"
Terror shot through Antele's heart at the words. Thievery had become common on the Lone Islands, and men protected their own as they must. But the slave trade was a horror not yet come to them. "No," she said again, struggling even harder, "No, you have to let me go! Take the sheep if you must but you…you have to…I have to get home! Please, sir, please…"
The sneering man laughed. "We're taking the sheep anyway, my dear, you've nothing to bargain with! What do you say, Ankon? We test Gumpas's leniency further, and start taking shepherdesses as well as sheep?"
"Whatever you say, boss," Ankon muttered, but he produced rope with which to bind Antele's arms readily enough before rounding up the sheep and herding them toward one of Felimath's natural ports. And Antele, securely tied and held by the boss's other men, unwillingly followed.
Aslan, she prayed, desperate, as her heart seemed to stop in her chest and her eyes stung, the thieves' ship large and black before here against the stars and the lingering remnants of clouds, Aslan, help me. Help me. Save me, save me, I don't know what to do, I can't…I can't…
But only the wind replied, rustling through the grass of Felimath, and the ocean waves, crashing on the shale on the beach and thudding against the ship's hull. Reluctantly, Antele was forced on board; they were underway, leaving the Lone Islands, leaving all she ever knew; and still she prayed, and there was no answer.
A/N: Sorry? This wasn't necessarily a happy prompt...I do have some vague ideas for Antele's eventual fate; hopefully I can work her continuing story into some of the coming days! Thanks for reading.
P.S. It's pronounced "Ann-teel" :D