6 Thistle

The raven perched itself at the top of the charred alder, fixing its gaze upon the girl. All that was left of the finches and doves was this great shadow. It sailed downward, hopping from branch to branch. The way it looked at her was almost human. She collapsed against the dead tree, heaving and weeping.

"Heavenly Father, protect me. Protect Cal. Lead me to him. Lead us home." She clutched a small wooden cross from her apron pocket. "Don't let them find me."

Briar caught her breath and surveyed the tall grass. Despite the Magistrate's ravages, the land was still intact. The Lowlanders knew it well, disappearing into its vast forests by moonlight. She removed a bowl from her satchel and filled it with water from her canteen. She kissed the cross and dismantled the steel wire holding it to the necklace, straightening it and threading it through a leaf. She placed it in the water and waited. It wobbled around, stopping to point over her left shoulder.

"Cluaran, I think they're coming. If anything should separate us, meet me in the mountains," Cal told her before the siege. He placed the canteen and a small bowl in a satchel on her lap. He kissed her on the forehead. "Head for the Highlands and travel by night if you have to. Don't look back."

"And I'll make you some heather tea," Briar weakly quipped, still shaken from what happened earlier. When Cal came back that evening, he saw she was shaking, but didn't ask why. She omitted it from her conversation, unable to explain the terrifying ordeal.

Shortly after, the infantry came with their torches. They kicked in the door and searched every room. As their footsteps approached, Cal instructed Briar to hide under his bed. He sat on top of it, bracing himself, trying to act as though he were just rousing from sleep.

"Come with us, soldier," a man robed in grey declared as he appeared in the doorway. Two men accompanied him, grabbing Cal by the shoulders and shoving him to his knees. "Swear your allegiance to the Magistrate."

He was silent.

"Are you deaf? You're under a new order. This savage country is his. Now swear it."

Nothing.

"I will give you one more chance. All young men have been conscripted to serve, or be dealt with as traitors. One of our men lingered here this afternoon, and hasn't been seen since. If you don't swear to us, we'll have to assume you killed him. Open your mouth and say something," the men beat him again. The man in grey grabbed Cal's face. "Say something, or face a worse fate."

When the young man refused to speak, he was ready to deliver a fatal blow. But, he sensed something. The infantryman panned the room in the near darkness, closing in on the girl's hiding place with his torch. Nearly catching a glimpse of her trembling guise, Cal spat in his eye.

"You're all dogs. Southern dogs," Cal grunted. He thrashed his arms in an exaggerated manner, diverting the men's attention from the bed as they rushed to subdue him. The man in grey unfurled his lips, gloating.

"Take him to the caravan with the others."

Briar covered her mouth, biting her hand fiercely as she watched them drag her brother into the hallway. Even in the darkness, she could see that his face was swollen. The floor was drenched in his blood - three of his teeth scattered. Even so, he looked back and mouthed it. Meet me in the Highlands.

When she was sure they were gone from the house, she moved from under the bed and lifted a small section of curtain. A faction of men waded through the grass outside the gate and let several shots ring into the night. They came back to the caravan, bloodied sheep hoisted over their shoulders as swindlers' trophies. The burliest held the carcasses of two or three. The rest of the flock was left to rot.

They remained in the pasture for some time, blindfolding and beating Cal as they looted the barn of its animals and torched it. Cal maintained the diversion through the beatings, shouting phrases in a maddening code that only Briar could understand. Before they loaded him onto the wagon, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You'll be making me the heather tea!"

Even without the wire holding the charm in place, Briar clutched the cross until it crumbled like mulch. Last night's events left her sleepless. The sun was at its highest. She needed to stay hidden until sunset, but the forests were to the east. The Highlands were due north, directly over her shoulder according to her compass. She could start that way, but she wouldn't encounter forest for much of the trip. The woods would lead her there, albeit taking much longer. If she was going to live, she had to head northeast.

The raven remained, keeping watch over the horizon. She gathered her things and got up, feeling a sting in her finger. A droplet of blood fell onto the grass. Briar instinctively put it to her mouth, sucking it in pain as she looked for the offender. The culprit was a brilliant purple thistle and its silvery spikes. Instead of moving away from it, she took out a small paring knife - the only one she'd made away with - and used it to capture the flower.

Cluaran. More than a simple weed, the thistle was the flower of her people. Just like her native land, it was beauty wrapped in thorns. It grew in lands that were fertile, and in the wasteland. The scraggly, nail-covered leaves protected its regal blossom from all tampering. When broken, the leaves emitted a milky sap that could be used to heal and invigorate.

It was all of Moorland, the Lowlands, the Highlands and the Isles. Untouched majesty. And as the magistrate encroached upon it, he would surely draw blood. She tucked it into her satchel and east, unaware that there was a head-hungry soldier on her trail. Briar continued toward the forest, unaware of the soldier dropping dead behind her.

The raven sailed above her head.