OK, here's the next installment of The Shape of Her Heart:
Chapter Three (the rest of it to come in a couple of days)
Quoi crouched in the pre-dawn light, anxious and tense, his forehead pressed to the grass, eyes closed. The jail was a hundred yards away, a dark shadow against the night sky. He connected with a rock half buried in the ground and drew on its emanating force, gathering his Gift into a tight ball. Energy leaped from his soul into the earth, zipping from stone to buried stone until he reached the foundation of the jail, leaving his body far behind.
The life forces of four humans glowed within, three on the other side of the building. There were no dogs or horses to give away his presence. Questions answered, he retreated and opened his eyes, winded from the effort.
Setting his pack down, he considered his options as he crept to the back of the jail with light, quiet steps. He laid a large palm against the stone and closed his eyes, throwing his Gift into the walls, flitting from cell to cell, scanning for a particular signature. None of the four felt like Rasa, but the occupants were deep asleep, making it difficult for him to ‘see’ them.
He frowned. He’d waited until pre-dawn, hoping it would give him the best chance of breaking Rasa out, but if he’d already been moved, Quoi wouldn’t know where to find him.
Time to do this the hard way.
Quoi circled the jail and bellowed, startling the guards. They stared at him in shock, their faces barely visible in the moonlight. He didn’t recognize them. Why would Printin hire guards from the outside when there were plenty of strapping men in
No time to worry about it now. Quoi ran into the trees, hoping to draw them away from town.
Using the darkness as cover, he dove behind a cottonwood and waited for them to come. As they ran by him, Quoi swept the feet out from under the nearest one. He leaned down and grabbed the man by the collar, neatly knocking him out with an efficient punch to the temple. The second one dove for him, but he jumped back, giving himself room to move. He scanned the area, but didn’t see the third one.
He widened his stance and settled in for a fight, circling. It was imperative he take this one out quickly. He didn’t want to give the other guard time to alert the town.
Quoi lunged at the man, catching him in his middle and hauling him to the ground. Quoi held a forearm over the man’s windpipe until he passed out. He flashed a grim smile, glad the years of bar fights were paying off. It felt good to dish back a little of what he’d been given the day before.
He quickly checked both men’s pockets – no keys.
He tore back to the jail at breakneck speed, praying the third hadn’t run for help. Quoi was thankful to see the man still standing there, waiting for his comrades to return. He looked absolutely terrified, and Quoi didn’t want to disappoint him.
The guard braced himself for impact. Quoi flew in swinging, punching him hard across the jaw. The man was huge and merely stumbled under the blow. They grappled, but Quoi’s strength quickly waned under the man’s superior size. Using brute force wasn’t going to be enough.
Quoi wrenched out of his grasp, grabbed his collar, and shifted his weight, throwing the man against the wall of the jail. The guard’s head smacked with a sickening thud, and he fell without further protest, his body motionless on the ground.
Quoi knelt down and placed two fingers his pulse, relieved to find his heart beat steadily, and his breathing was even. He hadn’t meant to hurt him quite that much. He’d have one hell of a headache come morning.
Rifling through the man’s pockets, Quoi found the keys. He unlocked the door. It was pitch black inside. He wasn’t surprised, remembering the nights he’d spent there. They never wasted candles on drunks and disturbers of the peace. He groped his way to the first cell. He had to move fast. The guards wouldn’t remain unconscious for long.
Quoi kept his voice low. “Rasa! Are you in here?” There was no response. He ran from door to door, and peered inside. The small barred windows let in just enough light to make out the occupants.
One contained a loudly snoring drunk. The next cell revealed another drunk. Then he saw Cherist, the troublemaker from Rocky Comfort. And the fourth man appeared to be yet another drunk. Obviously too many people had been having fun last night.
He swore loudly. Rasa was indeed gone. They’d moved him, and he had no idea which way they’d gone. He returned to Cherist’s cell.
“Cherist, wake up! Do you know which way they took Rasa? Did you hear anything that could give me a clue?”
Gods knew he needed one he thought tiredly. He was turning out to be a lousy hero.
Cherist roused from a deep sleep, protesting with a deep growl. Quoi shook the bars in frustration. “Wake the hell up! Where did they take Rasa?”
“They just took him away.” Cherist’s voice was thick and scratchy with sleep, and he looked pissed to be awake. “How would I know where they went? It’s not like they handed me a detailed map and itinerary. Say, you wanna let me out? I’ll owe you one!”
Quoi rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I’m in enough trouble as it is.” Cherist slumped, somewhat dejected.
“Tell you what. You let me out, and I promise not to tell them you were here.”
“Nice try. But I’m pretty sure the guards are going to remember what I look like, and the townspeople will put two and two together. Go back to sleep Cherist.” The man was not the brightest star in the sky.
Besides, he had bigger problems than the guards ratting him out. He stalked out of the jail, angry. The plan was falling apart; he had to think of something.
Retrieving his pack, he returned to town, uncertain what to do now. He wondered if his outburst in the courtroom had spooked the Elders into moving Rasa early or if it had been planned that way. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stay here now or they’d throw him in jail for sure.
His mind churned rapidly, casting about for a solution.
Elder Printin. He would know what was going on. Quoi knew the man wouldn’t want to tell him anything, but Quoi was very good at persuasion when he set his mind to it.
A shout rang out behind him. One of the guards must have awakened. It was only a matter of time before they roused the town to search for him. Taking off like he’d been shot out of an ancient cannon, he headed for Elder Printin’s house. Printin would tell him what he wanted to know, or Quoi would make him suffer.
The more he thought about it, the more he wondered about the Elder’s involvement. Any reasonable person would have questioned why Rasa was so unwilling to talk. They should have explored the possibility that he was being threatened.
The fact that Printin hadn’t set off Quoi’s internal alarms. He was hiding something, Quoi was sure of it. It made him feel less inhibited about adding assault and battery of an Elder to his list of crimes.
He pounded on the door, but only silence answered. Feeling exposed standing on the street, he kicked it in. Guess they’d have to add destruction of property to the list.
He ran up the stairs and opened doors at random, not knowing which room was the man’s bedroom.
The first one elicited a girlish scream. Mara, the Elder’s daughter. He felt guilty scaring her. Children teased the poor girl because she had the unfortunate appearance of a small troll, but she was a kind girl and didn’t deserve what she got. He resisted the urge to comfort her; he didn’t have the time. He’d make it up to her later if he got the chance.
The second door wouldn’t budge, so he gave the lock a swift kick. The door opened, slamming into something on the other side.
“Elder Printin?” Quoi asked. He could tell it was the Elder on the floor - the man’s barrel shape was unmistakable. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can tell me which way they took Rasa, or I can hurt you and then you’ll tell me.”
Quoi pulled the man up from the floor and slammed him against the wall. Printin gasped, the wind knocked out of him.
“Why should I? The shouts outside mean you’ve already done something stupid. In minutes they’ll think to look for you here.”
Quoi was glad Printin was giving him a reason. He needed someone to vent his anger on. He towered over the man and squeezed his neck with both hands, willing him to talk.
“You will tell me, Elder. The sooner you give me a direction, the sooner I’ll leave.” Quoi compressed Printin’s windpipe, enjoying the sight of the man’s eyes popping out of his head. “Tell me, or I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re involved in a conspiracy. Admit it. You sold out Rasa to cover up your own guilt.”
The Elder clawed at Quoi’s hands, but Quoi refused to relent. He was beginning to think he didn’t care whether the nasty little toad lived or died.
“All right,” the Elder squeaked. “All right! I’ll tell you.”
Quoi let up, but didn’t let go. He didn’t want to give the man an opportunity to fight back. He kept him pinned, waiting expectantly for his answer.
“They went south,” Printin said. “Towards the Old Ozarks. The prison is there, but I don’t know the exact location, I swear.”
Quoi studied the man’s beady little eyes and sent his spirit outward, ascertaining the truth of his words. After a moment, he let the man go, satisfied he wasn’t lying. “You don’t mind if I use your back door, do you?”
“Just get out. They’ll find you soon enough, and I’ll have you back under my control. You want to see Rasa? So be it. I’ll send you to him, and you can spend your days in Lumax talking about whatever it is you think you know.”
Quoi punched him, pleased to see the man slump to the floor, swearing vociferously. “I will find out what’s going on, and if you’re involved, I promise I’ll make you pay.”
Quoi ran back down the hall past a terrified Mara. He patted her head in sympathy for having such a troll of a father, poor girl. He flew down the stairs, taking two to three at a time, and whipped to the back of the house. The townspeople were rousing and filling the streets, so he took the alleyways, not wanting to get caught in the open. He had to get out of town.
Quoi veered to the southwest, hoping Printin would direct the people to look towards the south. Slipping out of town, he used the surrounding forest as cover, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low hanging limbs.
Even at this distance, he could hear sounds of men and women calling to one another, and he could see flickers of torches in the dawning light. He shoved down rising shock that his own people were hunting him. There was no time for self pity. The sun would be up soon, and he couldn’t afford to be exposed in the daylight.
Many of them knew the countryside as well as he; they would find him if he gave them half a chance.
He ran like a deer, letting the effort leech away his anger. Quoi pounded it into the earth, quickly nearing his chosen hiding place. He would rather keep moving, but it was too dangerous to travel the light of day. Printin would not be merciful if he were caught.
He reached the other side of the forest and burst into an open field. The sky was growing lighter. He would be visible from miles away. He didn’t have much time.
Veering to the left to a small hill covered in oaks, he reached his destination and ducked down behind a cluster of barberry bushes. Thorns caught on his pack and scratched his skin. He disentangled himself, pulled off the backpack and tucked it to his chest, scooting along until he reached the mouth of a small cave.
Quoi tucked himself in, knees to his chest. It was a tighter fit than he remembered. He tried not to crack his head on the ceiling, snorting in amusement at how much he’d grown since he was ten.
Now there was nothing to do but wait and hope no one thought to check the cave. In his favor, there were hundreds of places to hide in the country. With any luck, they’d check all the other ones first.
He sent a prayer into the earth to safeguard his sanctuary and laid his head back, on guard for sounds of approach, impatient for the night to come.
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