North Dark | Chapter 11 of 21

He leaves the cabin and walks out into the sunlit wilderness; bound, hungry, injured and though he does not see anyone at all, he knows he is pursued.

Two Crows stumbles on through the night, holding his hands together, tripping, knocking his face into trees, smashing his already broken nose, opening his skin on branches.

There are no sounds to hear but the wind through the woods. This relieves him. If he were to hear dogs, it would be over. He carries on for hours and the land slopes at steeper and steeper grades. Finally, he breaks from the trees and arrives at a stone cliff overlooking a long strip of cold green land. A rude cabin sits two or three miles away. No lights burn in the windows.

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At sunrise, he lies on his belly in the frozen grass, staring forward at the low slung clapboard cabin. There is no sign of life within. He stands and begins to walk toward the structure. He picks up speed and soon is running full out. He throws himself through the door, breaking the latch and bursting into the cabin in an explosion of dust and scrapwood. He lands hard on the ground, spins and jumps to his feet, ready to attack whomever he has just shocked.

The cabin is quiet, dark, cold and smells thickly of mold. A woman lies on the floor in a tangle of blanket. At a glance, Two Crows can tell she is dead and has been for a long time. Her body is rigid, gray and her fingers curled. He does not bother to turn her over or inspect her. The cabin is otherwise empty. He sets about looking for tools to break the chains around his wrists but finds nothing usable. Vegetables lay moldering on the table. He draws off the woman’s blanket and wraps it around himself like a cloak.

He leaves the cabin and walks out into the sunlit wilderness; bound, hungry, injured and though he does not see anyone at all, he knows he is pursued.

Drinking from a thin cold stream, exhaustion overtakes him. He kneels and watches his gruesome reflection in the water.

What have you done to yourself? What have you done to your family?

He falls asleep in a tree and wakes to a human voice calling up to him, “Good morning!”

Two Crows snaps open his eyes and stares at the exceptionally healthy looking man standing in the grass below. He wears dirty snowpants and a cotton workshirt and an open blue cloak. He is broad shouldered, blond and smiling.

Two Crows stares at him.

“Hungry?” the blond man says. “I have some smoked ox I can share with the desperate and needy. Come on down, if you like.”

Wary, Two Crows slithers down the tree and looks at the man. His horse stands some yards away, loaded with rolled carpets.

“I’m heading to Derand. Are you headed that way?”

Two Crows lifts his chin.

“You’re injured. Can you eat a little food?” The man turns away, moves to his horse and opens his saddle bag. He draws out a block of meat wrapped in paper and offers it with both hands to Two Crows.

Two Crows takes it, tears it apart, and feeds himself the smallest portions he can chew and swallow. He tastes nothing, just rough pain.

“Look,” the man says, “I don’t want to get involved in any trouble. But you’re clearly on the run, right?”

Two Crows gives no reaction, only watches the man.

“Where are you on your way to?”

Two Crows stares.

“You can’t speak, can you?”

Two Crows feeds himself a little more meat.

The man examines Two Crows bindings. “I don’t believe in slavery,” he says. “I can help you. Why don’t you come here and I can remove those chains.” He reaches into another pocket of his saddle bag and pulls out a rolled oilcloth bundle. He lays it flat on the ground and opens it, revealing a neat arrangement of metalsmith’s hammers and files.

Two Crows is hesitant to step forward.

The metalsmith says, “No? Okay.” He shrugs and begins rolling up the tools.

Two Crows rattles his chains and shows the man his wrists.

The metalsmith chuckles and says, “Here, grab a rock and I’ll help you.”

They squat down beside the river and Two Crows pulls the chain taut over the hump of a riverstone. The metalsmith cracks his hammer in three quick strokes against the length of the chain and Two Crows’ wrists fly apart.

The metalsmith smiles. “There,” he says. “You’re welcome.”

Behind the metalsmith’s handsome face, riders crest the hill.

Two Crows’ ribcage contracts with adrenaline. The slavers have found him. He scrambles to his feet and runs for the man’s horse. He grabs the horn and swings a leg up into the stirrup. “Hey!” the metalsmith shouts, seizing him by the shoulders and pulling him down.

Two Crows looks out at the slavers. Riding at full gallop, one of the men raises a crossbow and another wheels a sling overhead.

The metalsmith turns to look at the oncoming riders, not fifty yards away. A crossbow bolt slams into his chest, throwing him to his back. He gasps, blinks.

The horse gallops away, nickering. Two Crows scrambles to his feet but already the slavers are casually circling him.

The riders dismount, place their hands on Two Crows and hold him down.

“Who’s this other one?” one of them asks, looking at the metalsmith.

The metalsmith cannot speak. He is wide-eyed, shocked, and staring at the arrow wound in his chest.

“Is he going to live?” a bearded slaver asks.

“Maybe,” another shrugs.

“Look at the chains, the hammer. He freed our boy here.”

“It’s theft to free a slave.”

“Kill him or keep him?”

Two Crows is bound with heavy ropes and thrown over the back of the metalsmith’s horse, right beside the metalsmith himself. The slavers ride together, guiding the burdened animal back up the hill. The metalsmith will not stop wailing. “Let me go!” he shouts. “I’m going to bleed to death!”

The slavers yell at him to be quiet, but he will not. Two Crows is quiet, as always.

Finally, they stop the line of horses and the bearded slaver walks to the metalsmith and lifts his head by his hair. He shows him his long skinning knife. “I already took your freedom. It’d be little additional effort to also take that tongue.”

The metalsmith sobs, drops his head and falls silent.