Fortune Favors the Brave
Wezley Bennett sat, one hand toying with Nathans', light, ashen hair by the fireside. "I'm sick of the sight of you all." He said somewhat vehemently. Ice-cold gaze leveled at the real object of his distaste and dilemma, Carlos. As the captives were shuffled by him in chains.
He was tired of the struggle after owning such a compliant and clever slave in Nathan, and close to abandoning his project of many years. However, he could never quite find it in himself to completely just give up. He gazed long and hard at Carlos' retreating back, he looked taller, prouder, or was he simply imagining this? He shrugged and turned back to the boy at his feet, he probably was.
With the onset of finer weather, Bennett felt a weight lift from his shoulders, at least in part, for he had many ongoing concerns. Perhaps the lumber they had stockpiled would last for a time after all, and their exodus could be delayed. He was thankful because he was not remotely ready. In the vicious cold, the tribe had been burning fuel in copious quantities in recent weeks. While they had waited for news from the north.
With the realization the extreme weather had abated, he had ordered the three male captives removed from the cave. He grew tired of them in his living space, with all the clan so tightly quartered, and had his men inter them, fettered in chains to the prison of the cattle trailer. He had plans for Renard. He just as yet had not formulated them. Though he was really not so sure what he would do with the others when the time came to leave.
He was at that moment remembering television, as he watched the coals and the blackened vessel simmering heating water before him. That far distant time of his childhood. He did not choose to revisit those moments in his life often. These memories were for the most part very unpleasant. The plethora of Hollywood shows and movies all glorifying violence, and yet no man in real society was allowed to be that way inclined. Instead, the endless procession of pumped-up fakes of actors, pretending to the masses they were special. He had not found them convincing then, and he scoffed at the idea of them now.
These action flicks he had clamored to watch as a youth, he was always the bad guy in his mind, rooting for the villain to win. It was an era of foolish ideals he reflected. The social climate of that time was strange to him, people not knowing if they were even men or women. Ridiculous all of it, and he was glad it was long done with.
Bennett as an individual had only really begun to exist after the war. The time he had truly come into his own, born of blood and fire. He tugged on the mop of pretty platinum hair in his careless grasp, pulling the boy's face up to look into his own. Nathan's eyes shone with repressed longing. Bennett felt powerful, invincible, the emotion swelled inside him. Followed by burgeoning lust. Later, he mused, later. There were other matters, that must as always come first.
The vicious leader hoped that his three men would soon return from their foray north and with them some inspiration as to how they could move forward. Despite that Bennett was seeing shadows. What would happen if they never returned? The idea that they may not appear worried at the big man, dampening his heady feelings of the moment prior. He was emotionless on the exterior, but quietly that was his biggest fear.
So few men he ruminated, capable, but so few. It seemed his options grew less with each passing season. Only seven fighting men left, and of those he was not sure he could completely count on Sven. The big man seemed to have lost his lust for blood completely, unlike the others. Perhaps he should just leave him behind with his small family when they departed, Bennett conceded. There was Gareth and Dwayne, presuming they returned, and Will, Pig, and Todd. They were the only survivors of a very difficult year. It would do no good to be leader soon if there was no one left to lead.
How could his fighting force be replenished? He chafed at this hurdle that he must overcome. In recent years there had been no one worthy to join them, and attrition had taken its toll. The only tried fighting force he was aware of was housed in the Wolf Lord's fortress. The chances of them joining him were none. Not in his present capacity. He must find leverage, some power of impossible persuasion. He knew he grasped at straws. But a good leader never gave up, he knew this. Perhaps there would be some good men to be had from the farmlands of Renard's Father as a possible ransom for his son. Yet he was unsure how this deal would even bear fruit.
What did he have that could persuade anyone to join him? Gone were the heady days of discord and strife. People were now trying to rebuild. Were his days numbered like the dinosaurs of his past? A War Lord was nothing without followers, without the rudiments of war. He could feel his grip slipping and it left a bitter taste. He would hold on to the idea that Gareth would indeed return and bring him something of worth, something to rally his clan.
*****
The three men didn't know exactly how they would plan to escape, but since their relocation, the task would be easier. They would be less observed here, and they could even confer and plan some, without the ever prying eyes of their captors. Renard still had secreted in his possession the cutthroat razor that Raissa had in her fright overlooked to return. It was not much of a weapon, but beggars could not be choosers.
Carlos likewise had hidden the valuable stainless steel pin, pushed into the hem fabric of his torn shirt. The sundry item was so pivotal to their escape, and in the darkness later that evening while everyone was engaged in eating the evening meal. He attempted to pick the padlock that closed the gate of the trailer. The other two men held their breath as they watched on. Again in his skilled hands, he had it open in seconds. Renard and Darius nodded in approval, carefully they closed it once more to wait for the opportune moment.
Lissa knew she must assist Renard, yet she was unsure how she could be of any real help. Growing up in the farmlands of her people though, she had learned a thing or two about plants and their uses. She was no apothecary, but she had learned many facts about the plants that grew locally and their properties, thanks to her mother. Probably not as much as Raissa did healing-wise, but she knew enough to be dangerous.
There was a small ragged tree growing near the well she recalled. The goats did not eat it for a reason, and she knew why. The leaves were when the weather had been warm a feathery, lush green, and the pretty sprays of pea flowers white, that smelled heavily of honey in the late spring. Black Locust, Lissa knew all parts of the plant were poisonous. A dose would not be life-threatening but could be debilitating if ingested. She felt she had her answer. Now to employ her plan.
With this thought, Lissa had been down to visit the gnarled little tree earlier in the day, on the endless errand to fetch yet more water. A well-worn path had been etched into the hard-packed earth by the women's feet as they went on this errand many times a day.
The unassuming plant sat at the edge of the fallow corn field and looked for the most part like all the others. Twisted and gnarled, devoid of its leaves. Its bark was woody and dark, and the smaller branches terminated into prickly canes that could cause one's fingers to swell in pain if accidentally pricked by them. She could spy no seeds strewn about at the base of the tree. She was not surprised, truly this had been a terrible year for the plant life and this was a little tree. Fortunately, that did not matter, leaves seeds, or bark, they would all serve her purpose equally. She had to work hard to acquire enough of the tough bark, she would grind it up later in secrecy.
She preferred to enact this bold plan of hers before the return of Gareth, Dwayne, and Warren, the less men in camp the better. The trio had been absent a considerable length of time. The talk amongst the slaves was the three men may not return. Lissa did not want to chance waiting much longer, if they did arrive home, the extra men may complicate matters. Her mission was going to be difficult enough as it was.
Supplies had dwindled these last few months. There was little to eat for the slaves, they were by now mostly existing on cornbread and thin soup. In the evenings the warriors took all the choicest cuts of meat, a separate meal was prepared for them first. There were often as of late no leftovers even for camp favorites. This would play into Lissa's plan, well almost.
There was one problem with this poisoning scenario, and it ravaged Lissa's conscience, what about the child? What would happen if little Eirik was fed some of the laced meal? Black Locust shouldn't kill, she knew that. However, she did not know what it may do to an infant. Sven often fed his child lovingly holding him by the fire in the evenings, and she didn't want the death of an innocent baby on her conscience. She fretted over this but decided to persist with her plans and work out how to mitigate that problem, if, and when it arose.
So much could go wrong, she didn't have the experience to know what dose would be appropriate, and the quantity would have to be an educated guess. She was hardly a poisoner, and in her previous, comfortable life never had any reason to be. Not enough of the bark and her plan would go awry. The men had to be debilitated enough to want to sleep and be less watchful than they were now. No easy task with men who had lived like wild animals for a large chunk of their lives.
She had not told Renard, the less that knew of her idea the better. No one would suspect her, in all her captivity here the men had never had any cause to complain at her behavior. They thought her domesticated, and meek, and she was not about to dispel that myth. To begin with, she had been afraid, but with time she realized that she had to act. The fate of her friends had been cast firmly into her hands. Perhaps she should have taken Renard's previous offer of escape, she rued that hasty decision now, however there was no looking back.
*****
An apricot and lemon hue brightened the dawning sky. There was a slight chilly breeze that promised a fine day once the sun shone. The shadows still long in the valley, all purples and dark grays. Lissa had tied her rampant auburn curls back with a strip of cloth, however even this measure could not tame her unruly locks. They fell, tumbling into her chocolate eyes and down her back, like a burst of wildfire. The young woman's heart was racing, pounding in her chest, it would be today she had decided.
She approached the cattle trailer holding a chipped enamel bowl in both hands. The men's morning water ration. This was a routine she had kept religiously every dawn, and would not arouse undue suspicion. The farmer's daughter was not a brave woman, however, she knew she was the only one there who might perchance grant those men rescue and freedom.
