Chapter 5

Jack rolled out from under the wagon.

This, he immediately realized, had been a bad idea. His clothing, still the outfit bought by Gary the morning before, was now soaked with the morning dew. He stood, shivering a bit in the cool air. The morning light was just on the horizon, the last of the stars fading from view. Well, he was awake at least, with no need of washing. Shaking his head at his folly, he wiped his bare arms with his hand, removing the water. The now damp fingers went to his head, brushing his blond hair into a shape that, at least, felt somewhat neat. He couldn't actually see, so in a way his hair looked however he thought it looked. That's how reality worked, after all.

Jack looked around the camp. He was the first up. Gary was still asleep, having bedded down under the wagon with Jack at some point in the night. All three girls were still in the wagon.

He didn't know what to make of them. Of any of them. Jack was not a complicated person. He knew this, for all his memory had been played with. He did not want drama. Conflict. His father had been a simple farmer, working hard, returning home from the field and just enjoying his family. Never had Jack heard of dreams unfulfilled, of desires of travel. Stories of the wider world were just tales, entertainments that never evoked desires to see cities and heroes any more than tales of the gods made one want to seek out their company. Gods were to be avoided. So, too, cities, armies ... witches.

His eyes went to the woods, and the wilds beyond. He could run. There must, surely, be a limit to the distance Wendy's control over him could travel. Jack could be a mile away, father, before she woke. And what could she do, with the others there with her? Sam would stop her from pursuing him. Sam would...

Jack looked back at the wagon.

Sam.

He could still feel her kiss. The feel of her against him, her chest against his. Two days. He had known her, all of them, for two days. If he left now, her hold on his heart could be easily broken. Painfully, true, but she would soon be just a dream. A dream of what could have been. Would his freedom be worth living on with just her memory? This was his one chance. Hesitate, and the choice would be made for him...

Sam dropped from the wagon, wet grass around her bare feet removing the last vestige of sleep from her mind. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. It had been ... how long? Two weeks? Three? since they had fled the city. Three weeks since the stench of sewage, the press of people, had assaulted her on waking. It amused her that she had that thought every morning, and probably would most mornings to come, until the dreaded day her father's path took them once again into a city. Maybe she could talk him out of it.

Her eyes slid back into the dark of the wagon, to the lumpy blanket covered form on the floor. That's not all she wanted to talk him out of.

Sam couldn't be mad at her father. Or Wendy, at least not regarding this. Dad ... took comfort in the arms of women. He did not hide it from them, was not ashamed. Nor was Sam embarrassed or upset with that aspect of his life. It made him happy, in ways neither Sam nor Polly could. Since their mother had died, that need had to be filled somehow. Polly had to understand that.

His taste in women, though, had never been one Sam could understand.

He had been with Wendy. That ... complicated matters. Sam had spent some time awake that night, contemplating if it hurt, or helped. Dad was not one to be bewitched, to let a woman control him. He was strong. So, too, he would never let harm come to one under his protection, one his daughters cared about...

Her eyes flicked to Polly. No. That was no longer true.

It was too much for her. Too complicated. Sam wanted the world black and white, night and day.

Love and hate.

Leaving her two bunkmates to their slumber, Sam walked around the wagon. Jack was sitting by the fire pit, stick in hand. His blond hair stuck out at some odd angles, obviously not well taken care of. Once, she could forgive. Now, though, she saw she'd have to take charge in matters of his grooming. Reaching back into the wagon, her hand fished around blindly in an open satchel. It came out holding a wooden comb. Checking it in the faint light, she removed a few long black hairs. Once decontamination was complete, she approached the fire.

Jack sat on an upright short log set inside the ring of seats, eyes on the fire pit. Sam saw small bits of tinder smoking among the ash. He must have found embers still warm, buried in the remains of last night's fire. As she watched, a small flame appeared. Quickly, but carefully, Jack laid some small twigs over it. Not too much. One of the twigs caught. He began placing larger sticks.

Sam moved up behind him. She wasn't being quiet. Jack seemed to pause for a moment, before continuing in his task. She smiled. So, she was to be ignored. How dare he. Coming to a stop behind him, she put the comb in her mouth, reached out and ran her hands through his hair. The light blond locks were damp, to her surprise. Now Jack did pause, fire spreading to a second stick. Her fingers touched his scalp, running along it as she smoothed out the mess. The shape roughly formed, she retrieved the comb and began to run it through his hair. Jack leaned back against her, body seeming to relax. Wooden teeth catching on a knot, Sam gave a disappointed sigh.

"This is such a mess," she said, softly. "You're obviously not taking care of it." She yanked, the knot giving way much more easily than if it had been in her sister's long hair. He didn't flinch. Sam combed his hair back behind his ears. "You need someone to help you with something like this. Hair should be combed every morning." She paused, examining the length. It was longer than hers, but then she liked her hair cut short. Should she cut his? It did look good long like this...

Jack stayed silent, the fire before them continuing to grow.

Polly jerked awake, sitting up on the narrow bed. Her chest heaved, heart beating hard against it. She could feel them. Feel each of the eleven cuts on her arm. Feel them throb, ache. Feel the pulse of her blood flowing through her body, the pulse of her baby's blood.

She could see the face of Timothy.

"Polly?"

Head turning, she saw Wendy kneeling beside her on the wagon floor. The witch's eyes were wide with worry, red hair a tangled mess. Polly noticed a few blades of grass caught in that hair.

Her father had taken her lover. Was it then fate, that his lover would take Timothy's place?

Reaching her hand out, Wendy placed it on Polly's belly.

"You ... you're glowing so much. So much magic. I can see it even under your clothing." She shook her head. "Goddess, I've never seen anything like it."

Polly looked down at herself.

"I wish I could see." She placed a hand over Wendy's. The girl's dark skin was soft, warm. "Timothy said those with magic can never see it, those who can see it can never have it. To be able to ... use magic..."