Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle Page A

at the dead lands beyond.
    I am free.
    He had one more task before finishing. He took the braids of the downed women and, untying the others from his belt, he staggered across the last yards that separated him from his prize.

    -The Toughest Mile -

    She was waiting for him beside the flame that marked the end of the challenge, in front of a massive wooden gate. She looked him up and down. The crowd fell quiet. The only sound was the crackle of firebrands and the heavy rasp of Garn’s laboured breathing.
    “Was it worth it?” she said softly.  
    He said nothing, merely dropped the ten bloody braids at her feet.
    She lowered her voice to a whisper so that only he could hear. “ Sleep and I will take you into my arms forever. ”
    His gaze never left her eyes as he spoke.
    “There is a cold tavern on a far dock that has a flagon of warm mead and a warmer-still wench waiting for me. She has been waiting too long.”
    He smiled coldly when he saw the anger flare in her eyes, all joy tempered by a sadness in his own heart at having done it. But his freedom was close now. He must not waver.
    He looked her in the eye, daring her to refuse him.
    She sighed, waved a hand, and the gate opened. The crowd chanted his name in time with his paces as Garn walked out of the corridor, a free man.  
    It was a mile to the edge of the city, and the whole way he thought of nothing but her deep green eyes.

 
     
     
     
    THE HAVENHOME

    Taken from the personal journal of Captain John Fraser, Captain of the Havenhome, a cargo vessel. Entry date 16th October 1605.  

    My dearest Lizzie.  
    Today has been the worst day of my life. As I sit here, warm in my cabin, whisky at hand, I can scarcely believe the deprivations suffered by the brave people of this far flung outpost. I should have stayed at home like you asked. You would have kept me warm. If only I’d done as you asked, then I might have been spared the terrible sights that met us at landfall.  
    We had no thought of winter when we left home port. Do you remember? It was a bright Scottish summer’s day. You cried as we parted, and the sun made rainbows of your tears. I can still see you now, standing on the dock, waving us off. How I wish I could look at you, just one more time, one more time to warm my heart against the cold that has gripped us all.
    After the auspices of its beginning, our voyage soon reminded us that the sea is not always benign. After four months at sea my crew expected some ease from the biting winds and cold autumnal spray, some shelter from the elements that had assailed them so assiduously. And some were expecting something more, having heard tell of the harbour tavern of our destination, and the warm doxies who waited there.
    Cold comfort was all they found.
    We arrived under a slate grey sky, having to tack hard against a strong offshore wind that faded and died as soon as we entered the safe haven of the natural harbour. I thought it passing strange that there was no-one on the dockside to mark our arrival. We have been looked for these past two months, and the Havenhome is tall enough to be seen from many a mile. And yet no smoke rose from the colony, despite the chill in the air and the ever-present autumnal dampness. There was already a pall over my heart as we hove to.
    “Mayhap there is a town meeting,” the pastor said as we stood at the prow.
    “Aye, mayhap,” I said. But my heart did not believe it. I knew already there was some dark power at large. Perhaps I do have a touch of the Highlander sight after all.
    Jim Crawford was ashore before anyone else, running down the dock.
    The First Mate called after him.
    “Do not tire the doxies out, Master Crawford.”
    “I will have first choice,” the deck hand shouted, laughing. “I’ll leave you the ugly ones. But if you want any ale, you’d best be quick, for I have a terrible thirst.”
    We found him again when we disembarked and headed into town. He was first at one thing... he’d been