A Chance For Ago

Chapter 1 An Encounter

Eyes Bright

Freezing Sight

Please let me Live

Another Night.

His hand shot up. The platoon stopped like a kick to a kneecap. The hand stayed high. It was a regular, even hand, looking like it should have been spread on a musical keyboard. It quivered, like the hand was either at the beginning of a spasm or at the end of a long binge.

What is it? A voice rasped.

The hand clenched hard, as if to squeeze booze out of the cracks. When the hand opened again it showed a palm with a short lifeline.

Four soldiers on one side of the lane and five on the other crouched, ready to attack or run. Heads swiveled as they tried to see past the Sergeant’s hand. Wide, questioning eyes spoke to each other. They nervously examined the thick woods and swamp beside them. The youngest soldier rubbed the handle of his

sweat-covered sword. He licked his lips.

Three flicks to the right and an equal number left and the road was empty. The soldiers dissolved into the green, gray underbrush, their uniforms melting into the grasses like the sour swamp gas that clung to the scrub.

Staggering their hiding places the soldiers lay on either side of the gravel lane; if they were to stage an ambush their arrows and spears had less chance to harm each other. 

The hum of mosquitoes filled the minutes. The men tried to hear with their bodies; their eyes as well as their ears. All they could see was the grass in front of their faces. All they could feel was the bite of hungry gnats.

A sound came before there was a sound. It was a deep, slow, steady thunder. A soldier looked up into the clear summer sky. The thunder grew.

When the rumbling was above them the Sargent gave a shrill whistle. They sprang like a snake, with spears for fangs. Two men from either side of the road grabbed the horse. Two men sprang for the cart driver with short swords drawn. The rest surrounded the cart with spears hovering an inch away from anything that would do them harm. The cart was dragged to a dusty halt. The Sargent quickly surveyed the scene and the direction the cart had come.

The driver sat upright, with her hands wrapped in the leather reins of the horse. The wide-eyed horse jerked, pulling the reins so the driver was yanked upright and then slammed back in the seat. Her head was thrown back and red hair tumbled back

over her shoulders. She had the look of exhaustion and rage. Like a dying fire that still could burn. Except for her hands clasping the reins, she was covered in a layer of dust. Dust on her clothes, her face, her tears.

Look at her uniform. One of the soldiers noted.

The bitch’s got money.

A Mant noble.

Cut the chatter, the Sergeant said. He was indistinguishable from the rest of the troop except in his demeanor. His face was deeply lined, he could have been 20 or 40. Dust covered everything but his red-rimmed eyes. They shone with the intensity of a life spent wrestling demons.

One Eye, search the bags. Emo, search her. Salter, get rid of the horse. Let it loose, I’m sure some farmer will have a need for an extra horse.

He pointed to the remaining soldiers. "Larry and you, 

David, go north to that rise and watch, and you Tim and you, pointing to the fourth recruit, go south. Watch for Mant patrols. I don’t want surprises. Surprises are always bad."

At those last words, a couple of the younger troopers ran towards the horizons, leaving small puffs where their boots kicked up dust. The dark Sergeant circled the cart, watching the surrounding hills.

The Sergeant watched them go. He spoke to no one and everyone.

I don’t think I was ever that young.

Emo! He shouted.

Sir?

Search her. But watch yourself. Don’t use your fingers, use your knife. Something’s not right.

Emo motioned the woman down from the wagon and directed to her to spread her arms like a crucifix.

Emo?

Sir? 

Don’t enjoy yourself. This one’s valuable. The soldier’s eyes flickered to the sergeant then back to the woman’s chest. He licked his lips and flicked his greasy ponytail behind him.

Do as you’re told Emo. Only as you’re told. The sergeant muttered under his sour breath. Pervert.

The soldier’s shop-keeper eyes examined the woman’s face, watching for her reaction. His sharp knife began opening her tunic. His eyes dropped. The woman’s white nakedness shone in the sun. She stood impassive.

The tunic’s the Royal Mant colors, Sarge.

Yep. I’ve seen them once or twice. The Sargent’s unsmiling face scanned the horizon.

Make sure you search everything, every pocket, every snot rag.

Emo’s leering face looked at the woman and his hands followed his eyes. There seemed to be a blur and the grin instantly went from a routine sexual assault of a helpless woman to lying semi-conscious in the dust.

Whoa! Watch her!

Stop! Freeze! The Sergeant put his hand out to his men, whose every spear and sword was aimed at the woman.

The troop stood tense and waiting.

One Eye?

Yes?

How man times did she hit him? I counted five.

Six if you count the kick. The one-eyed corporal spat tobacco juice.

This here’s no scullery maid.

Well it could be worse there Emo. It could have been me.

The Corporal smirked as he looked down at the soldier groaning in the dirt. 

Emo, on his hands and knees, groaned.

I’m going to kill her.

Not bloody likely. One of the soldiers smirked.

I said search her for information! If I wanted somebody to pinch some broad’s tits I would have done it myself!

Me too! The Corporal smirked. Twice!

Sarge?

Yeah One Eye.

Look here.

The Corporal with the black eye patch was opening a blood-red leather trunk in the back of the cart. Inside, wrapped in the richest cloth, was a baby. The child lay quiet, staring back at the two rough soldiers.

Its red hair, translucent skin, regular features were all secondary to the child’s eyes. They shimmered like a desert horizon. There seemed to be no bottom to the wells that were the baby’s eyes.  The two men stood transfixed. For the first time the woman’s eyes watched the men.

Sarge! One of the troopers spoke.

Yeah.

With you holding that kid she getting nervous. And I don’t want to kill no woman.

Nobody’s killing nobody, least not right now. Just watch her.

This kid’s gotta be valuable. The one-eyed soldier muttered.

The Sergeant looked to where the soldiers were guarding the woman and then back to the baby. After a long minute he slowly turned away from the troop, the wagon, the woman, and his eyes studied the horizon where the scouts stood. One Eye joined him.

How you holding up?

None of your bloody business.

That well? The Corporal grinned. Drank all my booze and the next day you insult me.

The Sargent looked off into the hills and spoke.

Witch.

One Eye smiled.

I am so.

No I mean her. He held the baby eye level. And him too.

Have you noticed? The Sergeant looked at One Eye.

Oh yeah. Ohhh … yeah. She’s one alright.

They both are.

Emo doesn’t know how close he came.

No loss.

My whole life, never, not once. And now two together.

 Sargent breathed deep.  Without waiting for a reply from the Corporal he handed the baby to the one-eyed trooper and ordered,

Get rid of them.

No. I’ll take him. The Corporal answered overly loud.

Corporal. Put him back in the box and drop it in the ditch. The cart and the horse are valuable.

 One Eye’s face turned sullen.   

I found him. The man with the black eye patch blurted. All humour gone. 

Suddenly the Sergeant’s fists bunched. The Corporal’s eye bore into the other man as his right foot drew slowly back and his body turned and tensed into a fighter’s stance.

They stood, slowly coiling like snakes. The young trooper’s attention turned from the woman to the crackling emotions beside the carriage.

  woman’s face recoiled. She reached out, and was met with a spear at her throat.

A cricket chirped.

The baby burped.

The two men relaxed a little.

The Sargent turned slowly away from the troop and mumbled to the Corporal;

Well we got her undivided attention now.

Lets run with it.

Look!  

The two north-west lookouts were too far away to hear what they were shouting, but the soldiers at the cart instantly understood. At the top of the hills along the road, dust clouds rose from something large and coming fast.

For the first time the red-haired beauty showed real fear.

Mants.

Chapter 2 A Baby’s Soldier

Ago is a place

An age erased

Cannot return

Nothing to learn.

Emo! Emo Weed, bring the horse! The Sargent shouted.

I was just about to let it go.

No, don’t! Go out and get those two. The two sentries, now just black dots, were running back towards them along the dusty road.

How?

Get’m to hang onto the sides of the horse.

Hurry! several of the troopers shouted.

Emo Weed stole a quick, worried glance at the troop, the cloud of dust on the horizon, and then back to the sentries.

Emo! Get going.

You drunks better be here when I get back!

With that parting shout, he gathered in the leather reins and hunched over the horse’s neck. In an instant, horse and rider were slashing the air down the road. The horse’s mane and the rider’s thin ponytail streamed in the wind. One of the younger soldiers stole a quick look at the Sergeant. The leader’s expression was as dark as his three-day beard.

The dust cloud stopped at the crest of a low, distant hill. At first it hid the number of riders. As it cleared, the troop could see the line of riders stretching across the crest and disappearing into the valley beyond. One Eye slowly whistled.

They see us, the Sergeant muttered to no one and everyone.

If the Sergeant felt the dread his charges did, he didn’t show it. He barked out orders in rapid fire. Having a leader with experience and a strategy calmed his men.

Listen up! After Emo drops those two off he’s going to stay on that horse and go for help. We’re going to retreat back to our lines in good order. If those riders get too close, at my signal we’ll find a place to make a stand. So be prepared to dig in at a moment’s notice. Any questions?

The baby? Salter asked.

Aw shit! Well… just bring it.

Two other troopers exchanged glances.

Sarge it’s only a baby.

Yeah, leave it, it’ll only slow us down. It’ll start crying and give us away, another trooper said.

One Eye slung the baby across his shoulder.

I think this baby is what they want. He’s a prince or somebody that’s important. It’s his kid.

How do you know?

I don’t, we’ll know pretty quick, though, One eye interjected.

Eyes wide, the woman’s head spun between the baby and the horizon.

The Sargent continued;

If that cavalry runs us down like dogs the kid ain’t worth shit. If they surround us, try to negotiate, or pick us off one by one, that kid’s valuable. They don’t want it hurt.

Salter, the soldier who had gingerly searched the woman after Emo Weed had ended up kissing the gravel half yelled,

Let’s just put the kid back in the suitcase and throw it in the swamp.

Yeah. Two other soldiers nodded.

The woman reached for the baby.

The Sargent moved in front of her.

You understand us.

The woman nodded.

What’s your name. It wasn’t a question.

Melee.

I am Sargent Muntok. Nodding to the pony soldiers in the distance he said. They after you?

The woman nodded. It was a cold wary gesture, her eyes never left his.

Let’s go! One Eye yelled.

Axe the kid and let’s go! Salter shouted.

I don’t kill kids. The Corporal’s chin jutted.

You wouldn’t, the water would. Salter spoke.

We don’t kill kids, and neither does anyone under my command. The Sergeant’s voice cracked.

They’re coming! Salter shouted.

Down the road, Emo Weed had reached the two sentries and was galloping back to the waiting platoon. The two men flopped and dragged their feet in a desperate attempt to cling to the horse. There were shouts of encouragement. Emo spurred the horse. One sentry fell.

Larry! A young recruit beside Muntok yelled.

The horseman hesitated. Then, free of the extra weight frantically slapped the horse. The doomed man screamed unheard oaths as he sprawled in