Aran began to do things without thought, mindless repetition ruled his days. He was dying inside. His chains weighed down on him. He would often stand in silence staring dumbly at the world beyond the wood yard, like a caged prey animal who had forgotten the thrill of the hunt and the taste of spurting blood. Indeed he had, the days of freedom were far gone from his senses.

  Imogen had lied to preserve her own purity. She was with child. Aran did not know who the father was, but he knew it was not he. However he suffered for Imogen's secret on a daily basis. It was obvious that Ben Johansen needed his slave, and did not wish to part with a competent worker, however any cordiality or compassion Ben once had had for Aran had dissipated.

  “If I didn't know better I should have castrated you. Perhaps I still should.” Ben growled at Aran one day in passing when the wood yard manager was having difficulty with a load.

  “You can wait to eat, you filthy dog.” He admonished on another evening.

  Aran would kill the man, if he could, why had he hesitated, and now it seemed almost too late to try.

  *****

  Though it had rained and some of the alleyways and roads were a seething quagmire Aurianne could not bear to remain in their shared room this afternoon. She would take Isabou out to gallop and stretch her mares legs. She did this frequently, for a horse can only be stabled for so long, andthere were no turnout paddocks here. Every available green space had been used for planting.

  Though she was definitely tired of feeling like a second class citizen here by virtue of her gender, Aurianne had swiftly embraced strategies to combat this disadvantage. On leaving she donned a dusty brown full length leather coat, sturdy men’s boots, a wide brimmed hat and a headscarf which covered the majority of her face. That was not unusual here, many men did just the same. With her amazonian physique she was mostly ignored. Men were looking for little, soft targets, not one such as she.

  As she strode the street toward the livery, nestled under the anonymity of her wide brimmed hat Aurianne reflected on the very fine line between a free man or slave. It appeared society now ran on the unfortunates backs, and she shivered as she thought it would be all too easy to be kidnapped and sold into slavery here. Especially being female.

  Even with trying to remain unnoticed and law abiding, Aurianne had courted a few near disasters with over amorous men, and others who just found the idea of her being free and unmarried somehow threatening. The Bridge sure was not an easy place for a single woman to live, and she had no desire to return. The redhead had been going to tell Jhary that she needed to leave, and could not bring herself to stay any longer, in spite of the bard’s generosity.

  However that had seemed a bit harsh after recent events and gaining a glimpse of the usually happy man’s torment, so she had declined to do so for the moment. However as providence would have it Jhary had already arrived at his own conclusion. After weeks at the Bridge searching, he was drawing undesired attentions from the Banned Angels who set upon him for tithes and taxes, and he also wished to be gone. The trio had agreed to stay until the end of the week, and then set forth to help Aurianne rescue her henchman Darius if he still lived.

  The stables made Aurianne smile. The smells, the sights, all crafting the fondest memories. She didn’t know what she would do after she had achieved her revenge. She had dwelt on it though at least a little. Would she just be alone wandering? She didn't like that outcome much, there seemed no point to it all. So she thought of other scenarios. Could she even dream of teaming up with Jhary Brannon, she liked the man, no, it was well beyond liking. He was what so many women sought in a man, even if sometimes he appeared a bit cowardly. The music, the charm, the romance, the dimples. She laughed at herself, then at Isabou who whinnied on seeing her mistress with pleasure.

  She had decided to head the southeast this day. It was more open and the buildings quickly dispersed into mostly single story shanty huts. A vast suburb of corrugated iron and reclaimed salvage. The negative was the roads were more than muddy, but the positive was Aurianne was mostly left alone. Isabou’s great hooves struck the sticky soil and sent mud flinging in all directions. Still it felt good to ride.

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  Aurianne lost herself in the rhythm of the great animals gait. Isabou had settled from an excited gallop into an easy canter. Beauty ran at a safe distance behind trying to dodge the flying mud. As she looked about her Aurianne was amazed at the vast and very youthful populace. There was rarely an elderly person to be sighted. Gray hair seemed endangered. This was true even in the inner city of the bridge were the more affluent lived.

  This continent used to carry such a different demographic. Governments worried incessantly at a burgeoning elderly population that rode on the shoulders of the young. War, lack of medical options, and zero birth control had seen a complete reversal in this trend. Not many lived to an old age any more. Youth was everywhere, both despoiled and not, and all vastly uneducated. Though Aurianne as a growing girl had hated to sit those long afternoons enduring her mother’s tutelage, she was glad of it now. At the time adventuring and hunting had seemed far better uses of her time.

  Half way through her ride the young woman paused at a public watering trough. These conveniences were scattered all over the city and its outskirts. Isabou blew bubbles, played, and drank, and Aurianne laughed. These small moments were the things she lived for. As she sat watching her mares antics she spied something shining in the sand at the edge of the road. She dismounted to investigate, avoiding the worst of the sticky mud.

  She picked up the flat object and cleared it of sand with her fingers, it was an old cell phone. The touch screen black and lifeless, but miraculously not broken. A curio of the past, a time when people were ‘connected’. She remembered her mothers distaste for the devices, and how annoyed she would be when she was doing something and it chimed for her attention. Other people seemed to feel this too as she recalled.

  Aurianne turned the object in her hand and wondered honestly were they better off without. It may have been handy to relay an urgent message, but she could see it would be very intrusive as well. Contemplation over she flung the mute artifact into the bushes, it could continue its rest there.

  She took a circular route winding back through the more deserted industrial sector of the town. There were some viable businesses conducted here, but a lot of ruin also. Most of the industrial estates being too large to really be of use in an anarchist age, unless for salvage.

  The rain began to deluge and Aurianne parked Isabou in an abandoned, partially stripped metal spanned shed to wait out the worst of the downpour. The water roared on the iron above, and ran in an almost continuous curtain off the side of the span.

  She gazed ahead, across the broken bitumen toward a high barb crowned chain link fence. A man was standing in the rain immobile, the fact he was bare chested and so still seemed odd. His head hung down in the attitude of sadness or defeat, his long golden hair was plastered with the wet to his back.

  A skipped heartbeat. No, could it be? Surely not. Aurianne craned to see through the driving torrent, if it was who they sought there was no way she would risk him seeing her, even if he looked thoroughly beaten and domesticated. She decided to ride for home even though the rain had not cleared...

  *****

  Aurianne wrestled with her conscience. She had not said a word about her sighting, and the week was rapidly drawing to a close. She really didn't wish to facilitate a longer stay here. She personally did not want to come face to face with Aran again. To let Jhary leave though and say nothing, that was not right, or was it? She fought with this.

  Perhaps that demoralized slave that stood in the rain was not Aran, she didn't get a close look after all. There were many big blond men kept as slaves, lord knows she had done double takes many a time in recent weeks only to realize she had been wrong.

  It was rare Aurianne wrote. The pen felt alien to her hands, strange to think that a bow or the reins of her horse were more familiar to her touch than the pen had become. She paused and wrote neatly constructing her missive carefully, precious ink and paper were not a commodity to be wasted. She could have left a verbal message with the clerk, but somehow it seemed inappropriate to do so, and verbal messages were often misconstrued or not delivered and she didn't wish that. Jhary had been good to her, but it was time she made the split. He didn't need to go risking his life for the sake of her own personal vengeance. If Aurianne survived she hoped chance would be fortuitous and allow them to cross paths again perhaps in happier circumstances?

  Jhary would be back soon from his performance, she must hurry. She folded the note neatly and left it where he would sight it. There was not much to gather for her journey north. A few items of clothing, her bow, a well sharpened blade.

  She called Beauty to her side. The hound whimpered and hesitated as though it did not wish to leave.

  “What is it Beauty?” Aurianne ruffled the dogs soft black ears. “Getting too comfy here are we?” The rest of her belongings were at the livery, she had paid up till the end of the week. Leaving early would present no bother.