Barghast ran for his life with Crow's unconscious body draped over his shoulder.
The others had already disappeared out of sight. You bastards better not leave us behind! he thought savagely. But sure enough Jack's horse and Crow's horse was gone. That only left his horse, Gunpowder, still tied to the tree.
The stallion snorted when Barghast laid Crow across his flank. Gripping the reins he stepped up on the stirrups and slid a leg over. He could hear the sounds of angry shouts coming towards the trees. The Okanavian gently shifted the Practitioner so that Crow was leaning securely against him; his head rested against his chest. With a "yah!", Barghast snapped the reins. The horse whinnied once, jumping back on its rear legs once, before bursting into a run through the trees.
By the time he had made it back to the building where they had camped, the other Strays had already packed up and were already mounted on their own horses. Apparently healed enough to be able to sit up on his own, Faulko sat atop Broana. Though he was upright and his eyes were open the dazed expression on his face said he wasn't all there. The months he had spent being tortured had broken his mind beyond repair. Barghast had seen it happen many times.
Rake scowled when he saw Crow. "Couldn' leave your boyfriend behind, could ya?" the cutthroat chided. "You would be doing us all a favor if you had."
"If I didn't think I'd face the noose for it, I'd rip your balls off and make you eat them, Commander" Barghast growled.
Rake raised an eyebrow. "Sure you wouldn't just eat them yourself, savage? You know I could have you flogged and thrown in the brig for a month just for talking to me that way."
"Enough, both of you!" Sara said vehemently. "We have to go. You two can fight it out later."
Once more their group rode out into the night. Barghast was glad to leave the necropolis behind with its rotting buildings and starving coyotes. He wanted to get away from the desert as quickly as they could; and quickly they would have to ride for there was a likely chance the Red Wraiths would be after them. Still even as the tombstones of the necropolis faded out of sight, lost to the sandy hills, Rake's comment chafed. More than anything it was a reminder.
For most of his life Barghast had done everything he could to part himself from his tribal life, renouncing his family to do so; he would never again be able to see them. Not his father Rhaederghast or his brother, Shamoan, or his mothers. And no matter how hard he tried he could not part himself from the superstitions that had always been a part of his life or the fact that he would always be viewed as a savage by his peers, a savage.
Well except for Jack. Jack was his shadow. And maybe, he hoped privately, Crow.
Crow did not wake up for some time. He muttered in his sleep but his words were unintelligible. Barghast wondered if the practitioner would remember anything when he woke up. Sometimes he did and sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he would remember only pieces of what had happened, what he had done. Barghast envied him this. There are so many sins I would like to forget, he thought.
They rode through the night, until the sun started to come up, only stopping at a ravine to water the horses and rest for a few moments. Barghast's entire body ached by this time; his inner thighs were raw and chafed from hours spent riding nonstop. Sara came over with a wet rag, looking over Crow with a concerned, maternal look. She was the only other one in their group who did not look upon Crow with pure malice. Not even Jack showed concern after the practitioner had saved his life.
Prejudice at its finest.
"Is he alright?" she asked.
"Fine," Barghast said. "I think he spent too much of himself."
She nodded. "Do you want to do the honors or shall I?"
"I will."
She handed Barghast the rag with a knowing look on his face, as if she knew a secret he was keeping and was waiting for him to admit it. Barghast scowled at her before turning to face the still unconscious practitioner. Gently he began to wipe the crusted blood off Crow's face.
The practitioner stirred, opened his eyes, looked around in confusion, and jerked away from the Okanavian.
"Hey!" the Okanavian whispered, grabbing Crow before he could fall off Gunpowder facefirst. "It's okay. I'm just trying to clean you up a little bit. You've made a mess of yourself, lettli b'dir."
Crow nodded, relaxed. "We made it?"
"So far. We stopped for a little rest." Barghast finished wiping the blood off Crow's face before handing him a waterskin. Crow drank deeply, his eyes squinted shut, throat bobbing.
"We wouldn't have gotten out without you," the Okanavian said.
Crow passed the waterskin without saying anything. Barghast recognized the hidden pain in those dark blue eyes; he saw it everytime Crow came to, when he'd realized what he had done. It's what keeps him from being a monster like the rest of us, Barghast thought. The thought saddened him. How much longer would it be before the war hardened Crow the way it had done the rest of them? Assuming he survived long enough.
"What did you call me?" Crow said after a moment. "Just a few moments ago?"
Barghast looked away towards the water. "It's nothing. It was a slip of the tongue."
"Tell me. I want to know."
Rake rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head. "Lettli b'dir. It's another thing my mom used to call me, even when I grew up to be taller than she was. But I guess when it comes to the people who raise us, we never truly stop being little."
Crow nodded. "What does it mean?"
"Little bird."
"You think I'm little?"
"Compared to me you are, I suppose."
This time Crow really did smile. "Only because you are so big. You're practically a giant."
"It was stupid to call you that."
"I don't mind. I kind of like it. Can I have some more water?"
It was Barghast's turn to smile as he took the waterskin. "I'll just go fill this up."
"Wait...please."
Barghast stopped, turned slowly to face the practitioner once more. Crow's expression had changed to reveal the truth of his inner turmoil. He was clutching at his crucifix again. "Is Mother Moon forgiving?"
"Very," the Okanavian said after a moment.
Crow tilted his head back to look up at the sky. "Mercius is not so forgiving I don't think."
Barghast reached out to take the practitioner's hand. Crow looked surprised but did not move his hand out of the Okanavian's grasp. "Where is this coming from, little bird? What are you afraid of?"
"That by the time I reach the end of this war I will be beyond forgiveness."
Barghast felt his heart swell. The words that come from those lips; he can be so naive and wise in the same instance. "I cannot speak to the Eurchurch's doctrine but where I come from we believe no one is beyond forgiveness. How old are you, Crow?"
"In just a little over a month it will be my eighteenth cycle. How old are you?"
"Twenty-eight cycles."
Crow arched a dark eyebrow. "I thought you were older."
Barghast made a growling sound in his throat. "Are you saying I look old?"
The practitioner looked away, embarrassed. "Well...no." He shrugged his bony shoulders. "I guess I just thought you would be older."
Barghast chuckled, ruffling Crow's hair. "Relax, little bird. I was just kidding. I'm a good deal older than you. Ten years makes a big difference believe it or not." But in truth, Barghast was starting to suspect that Crow was not as young as he appeared. There was something inside of him that was old and way beyond his years. Barghast had seen hints of it before but he had caught a true glimpse of it at Fort Erikson. "The warmachine has yet to change you."
The practitioner frowned. "Warmachine?"
"It's just a saying, illustrating the cycle of war."
Crow nodded. "You speak as if you are beyond forgiveness. Why?"
The Okanavian's smile faded. "Before this I was a bounty hunter. I tracked people down and killed them for profit. Most of these people deserved it you might say, but my soul is no less tarnished. The same can be said for Jack. He was the one who taught me everything I know. In a lot of ways you could even say he raised me though he would take no such responsibility."
Crow sighed. "I am older than you think, Okanavian. Don't forget I had a life before this war. My soul is every bit as tarnished as yours."
Barghast raised his hand from Crow's hand, to the practitioner's cheek, cradling it with the palm of his hand. "I don't think so, little bird."
Crow turned his head slightly so that his cheek pressed more firmly against the palm of his hand. The moment was soon interrupted. "C'mon, shitstains!" Commander Rake roared. "Let's get a move on! I don't want a platoon of those Red Wraith bastards catching up to us!"
To be continued in Hellscape: At Each Other's Throat...