The Pull by Len M. Ruth

Author:Len M. Ruth [Ruth, Len M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ruthless Press
Published: 2023-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Hili

Hili and Xavier reached the coast, sharing what little food the other pilgrims had, sleeping little, and walking through the night. The port was nearly empty of ships when they arrived, but they were able to purchase passage on the last ship bound for Britania. There in the dark swaying hold, Hili went into the black.

She came back into Alphonso Pontes to find Xavier pressing his uncle’s hand to the side of the pot.

“Hili, are you there?” Xavier asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“We were boarded after you... left.” Xavier pointed to a group of Roman soldiers conspiring in the shadows of the hold. “They demanded that the boat go to Rome. Now we are at the port, but it is full of men who are called Visigoths. I have seen them. They look just like the Suevi you rescued us from. The soldiers are now demanding the captain re-provision and sail for Constantinople. What should we do?”

“You should go with them. It is not safe here.”

“What about you?”

Hili felt

The Pull

toward the shore. “I have business here. Go with the gods, Xavier.” She kissed the boy on the top of the head, took up the pot, and approached the Romans. “I will share my food with you if you can open this pot. The lid is stuck.”

As soon as the closest soldier grabbed the pot, Hili was behind his eyes, looking up at Alfonso. She jumped to her feet and ran, clutching the pot to her. She was up the ladder and off the ship before anyone could protest. Her sandals slapped hard on the wooden docks as she ran, casting off the trappings of soldiery as she went. It wasn’t hard to find clothing; the bodies of Romans littered the streets.

As she pulled on the filthy robe of a dead peasant, the smell of death overpowered her. She cried as she ran. Each footfall that echoed off of the paving stones was a staccato beat of despair. This life she’d been forced into by the gods tore at her soul. All the death, all the loss of life dragged her down. The hardest to cope with, still, was the loss of her own. Would she be with Nigmah now, in the afterlife, if there were no pot? It didn’t matter. It happened, gods or no gods. Nigmah was gone, and she was still here, chained to a demon.

Her bitter tears mixed with the sweat dripping from her brow as she ran. Hili could almost feel Nigmah’s fingers wiping them away. “I will come for you,” she huffed. “Nigmah, I will come for you.” It was more than a vow, more than a promise made to the heavy, uncaring air. For Hili, it was a certainty. She would find Nigmah in the afterlife. But first, she must stop the demon, stop the loss of life, and reclaim her own life, or death.

Along the road to Rome, Hili ran into Visigoths, pulling carts of supplies from the coast to the besieged city. She felt the pot pulling her toward them.

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