Page 205 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sam

I come to lying on the floor, no fur or tent floor beneath padding me.

The throbbing in my head has dulled down, just a mild ache now, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

Not pleasant but ignorable. My body feels stiff, and when I try to move to stretch myself out, I discover my hands and feet have been bound with vines.

I test them out, trying to move my hands, and find that while they aren’t so tight as to be uncomfortable, they’re tight enough that I can’t easily move.

I blink the last of the blur out of my vision and crane my neck to get a look around. I see a lot of legs - raskarrans standing in the space around me, packs at their feet. A couple are sitting down, and when one of them catches my eye, he gives me a leering grin that makes me look away.

Rolling onto my back, I stare up at the sky, trying to gauge how much time has passed since I blacked out.

There are clouds overhead, thick and looming, but it’s bright enough that I think the sun must have risen fully.

I don’t know how late, or early, Maldek woke me, but I guess a few hours have passed since I was taken.

Looking round, I can see no sign of the river - just trees in all directions.

I could be absolutely anywhere.

I let the rising panic have a moment before swallowing it back down.

What’s the key to solving any problem?

The echo of my dad’s voice makes my heart constrict.

One thing at a time. You approach it one thing at a time.

I’ve been kidnapped by bad raskarrans, carried off into the forest God only knows where. I don’t know if Maldek and the others are okay, if they’re hurt, if they’re looking for me. I’m cold and uncomfortable and my head keeps throbbing. An insurmountable pile of problems.

One thing at a time.

I start with sitting up.

Rolling back onto my side, I wriggle in place until I get good enough leverage with my bound hands to push myself upright, then swing my bound feet in front of me.

My head swims a little, but it passes quickly, and the ache at my temple is no worse for being upright.

All good signs, I figure. I’m damp and muddy from lying on the ground, and as the cool breeze hits my back, it sends a shiver through me.

I draw my knees up to my chest, looping my bound arms around them, holding what warmth I have close.

My bashed up knee groans a protest, and I draw my nightgown up with my arms just enough to see the purple bruising that’s starting to spread over it.

Just great.

One thing at a time.

I wait for my heart to settle, and for any of the raskarrans around me to protest my movement.

A few look in my direction, but I’m not knocked over or pushed back to the floor.

Mostly they seem to be disinterested, which I find strange.

Gregar’s tribe and Walset’s were both fascinated by me, staring at me with wide-eyes and often slack jaws.

They look at us girls like we’re precious - a hope for the future.

These guys barely look at me, and when they do, I really don’t like the glint in their eyes.

I count to ten in my head, slowing my breathing down as much as I can. One thing at a time. What’s the next thing?

Get a proper picture of what I’m dealing with.

I start by counting the raskarrans around me.

There are twelve altogether, much less than the number of Walset’s tribe.

Even with the advantage of surprise, there’s no way these guys did serious damage.

I look a little closer, really studying the males around me, and see scuffed up clothes, bloodied arms, bruised faces.

One of the raskarrans is tending to another who has a nasty cut all across his abdomen.

Yeah, they definitely didn’t find Walset’s tribe a push over.

I only hope these guys came off worse, that Maldek isn’t back at the encampment nursing similar injuries.

On the far side of the clearing, there’s a pile of bags that looks familiar to me.

The raskarrans here aren’t carrying packs, so there’s a chance it’s just their stuff, set down while they rest, but I don’t think so.

The packs are stuffed full, bulging with things, like they’ve been packed full of belongings to take across the forest from one village to another.

So these raskarrans attacked Walset’s for their stuff.

I think of my days in the orphanage, when looking at a matron the wrong way could see your rations docked for a month. We learned to be quick on our feet when it came to food, and the trick to stealing from someone when there are more of them, when they’re bigger and stronger than you, is speed.

You hit hard and fast and you don’t look back. Just run and run until you’re far enough away that they’ve got no chance of finding you.

I used to do it with the other orphans, hitting supply trucks as they were unloaded in the food district.

Stealing a sweet, ripe apple, or a handful of grains.

It’s a whole world away, but I don’t think the principles are that different.

Twelve raskarrans against all of Walset’s tribe?

They weren’t going to hang around to fight.

I let out a breath, relief rising in my chest and easing some of the tightness there. There aren’t many raskarrans here. Walset’s tribe had the advantage of numbers. They aren’t likely to be seriously hurt. Which means they could have already rallied, found the trail, and started to look for me.

I can’t count on it, though. I don’t doubt that they’ll come for me if they can, but there are so many factors that could influence how successful they are.

If they are injured and need to take time to tend to their wounds, if they can’t find the trail easily, if they are on their way, but they’re too far behind to catch up quickly.

I need to be doing everything I can to help myself in the meantime.

One step at a time. Next step: food.

I barely notice the pinching in my stomach over all the other aches and pains in my body, but it’s there, an undercurrent of discomfort that gets louder when I pay attention to it.

I’m used to being hungry, could probably go without for much longer before I really start to feel it, but I’ll need my strength to get over the head wound quicker.

Besides, it’s a good test of how these raskarrans are going to respond to me.

I look round, find one who isn’t looking at me like he wants to find out what’s underneath my nightgown, and wait. It doesn’t take long for him to feel the weight of my gaze and turn to me. I make my eyes as wide as I can, pointing to my open mouth and doing my best to look pitiful.

He’s older, the raskarran I’ve chosen to try this on.

His hair is flecked with grey, his face more grizzled than the others.

I put him on a par with Harton, Anghar’s father.

Old enough to have grown children, but not so old as to be ancient like the elders.

It’s difficult for us girls to tell their ages, because we’re all so used to looking at bottom tier faces - old before their time, thanks to the chemicals and the food rationing and the never ending labour - but I think I have the measure of this one.

He stares at me, unmoving. I repeat the gesture, lowering my bound hands and cupping them together as best I can, holding them out towards him. I see the moment his eyes widen, the moment he realises what I’m asking.

I also see the way he hesitates, how he looks to the other raskarrans as if to check whether they’ve noticed our little interaction.

Then, with furtive slowness, he pushes to his feet and comes over to me, rummaging in his pocket.

He pulls out a bit of the dried meat the raskarrans make to preserve it, dropping it into my hands.

I don’t immediately stuff it in my mouth, instead closing my fingers around it and looking up to him, meeting his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say. “Maha shun.”

His eyes widen again, but then he inclines his head the way raskarrans do to acknowledge something. It’s a polite gesture. He’s being well mannered towards me.

I turn my attention to the morsel he’s given me.

It’s not a lot, but the salty flavour of it explodes on my tongue, making my stomach growl louder.

I chew it slowly, savouring it as much as I can.

It makes you feel more full, and besides, the meat is tough for my little teeth.

Sucking on it a while softens it enough to chew and swallow.

When I’m done, I look up to find that my new friend is still hovering over me, as if waiting to see what I do next. I smile at him. He doesn’t quite smile back - his lips twitch, but never spread across his face. I raise my bound hands to my chest, tapping it.

“Sam,” I say, then give him my best questioning look.

He doesn’t respond, merely stares at me, then looks around at the rest of the group.

“Sam,” I say again, repeating the gesture.

He inclines his head once more, then, very slowly, raises a palm to his chest.

“Jestaw,” he says.

“Jestaw,” I repeat, careful to get the inflection right, putting the emphasis on the second half of the name. “Nice to meet you, Jestaw.”

He frowns down at me, not understanding my words. I just smile some more, try to look cute and innocent. Worthy of protection.

I think I must make my new friend uncomfortable, for he shifts a lot, moving his weight around on his feet as he watches me. He takes a breath, opening his mouth to say something, but then a commotion sounds and Jestaw, along with all the other raskarrans, turns to face it.