“This one is lucky. Lift him,” the same quiet voice commanded. The hands holding Wyand down now scooped under his shoulders and raised him up to his feet to face whoever had spoken. Several of the lingering aches in Wyand’s limbs protested being moved so rapidly, but he paid no attention to the sudden pain. Standing just a few strides in front of him was a person whose clothing and physical appearance differed from anyone else that Wyand had ever met. Strange, jagged plates covered a frame that was long and slender overall, although the hip and chest plates jutted out noticeably. The face above all of the plates was narrow just like the body, with dark hair in tight braids and large green eyes that intently studied Wyand’s own gaze.
“The answer is simple,” the unusual person said quietly. “Because although you cannot speak, I hear your questions clearly. I am not like you—as you are called ‘man,’ I am called ‘woman.’ Though this difference is subtle, it divides us profoundly. As part of that division, understand that you must obey my commands from here forward.”
Wyand’s brow furrowed as he attempted to seek clarification through the cloth in his mouth. One of the examiners pulled upward sharply on Wyand’s bound right arm, twisting his shoulder painfully in its socket. He cried out, but this sound too was muted by the thick cloth.
“You will be permitted to speak in time, but you must learn to listen first,” the woman said. “Do as I tell you and you will survive this land. Disobey, and you will fall to the haugaeldr. Now, stop staring at me and get in the boat, Newfallen.” Wyand took note of the dangerous stares being cast his way by the men of this strange group as they waited for him to follow the instruction. He shook his head faintly in denial as his thoughts fixed on trying to return to Aldhagen. After the moment of hesitation, though, Wyand’s objections quickly faded when he felt the examiner lifting his arm again slowly. Seeing no other option, he nodded tiredly and climbed into the large wooden boat that held nearly a dozen people already. Aldhagen would have to wait, for now.
Wyand had seen small versions of such a vessel used by the Woodsmen from time to time to guide logs along the river to the Hall, but those boats weren’t nearly large enough to seat this many people. He walked between the two rows of seated men, all of whom were still watching his every move as they clung to long wooden oars. At last, Wyand found an open seat towards the rear of the boat. The woman climbed aboard next and walked past Wyand, followed immediately by the three examiners. As Wyand sat, the woman’s voice suddenly whispered into his left ear.
“Although you are weary,” she said, “I still expect you to pay attention, Newfallen. Where an open mouth could pose a dozen questions, open eyes will find a thousand answers.” Wyand prayed that her words held some truth—his head ached with confusion. Ignoring exhaustion for the time being, Wyand nodded in understanding.
The boat and its crew silently pushed away from Wyand’s refuge and moved farther downstream. He risked a glance back towards Aldhagen, but fog obscured it from his view. I will not fail you, he vowed to his fellow workers. I just need some time. Turning his attention back to the people on this peculiar boat, Wyand observed an action that was completely unfamiliar. While most of the men onboard pushed and pulled oars in unison, there were two men standing at the front of the boat with long, curved sticks that they held upright in front of them. Every few moments, each man used the long stick to send a smaller stick out into the water at great speed, and a hollow thud soon followed. Wyand noticed the water frothing and churning wherever each small stick hit, but he couldn’t see what was causing it.
“They are clearing our path,” the woman said quietly over Wyand’s shoulder. He turned slightly to see her face as she spoke. “The haugaeldr will eat their own dead if given the chance, so we lure them away from us with well-placed bodies of their fallen. See the arrows used by the two Sentinels?” she pointed to the men at the front of the boat. “Each one must find its mark, or the haugaeldr will be on our boat in moments. If that happens, well…you will understand once we reach the shore.”
Wyand shuddered as another volley of arrows struck two more haugaeldr on either side of the boat. From his seat it was impossible to view any part of the creatures, but he could see and hear the resulting frenzy that violently stirred the water. Even though Wyand had witnessed death before, the amount of widespread brutality in this world beyond the walls came as a shock. Not wanting to watch another set of arrows find their marks, Wyand looked back at the woman that led this group. He immediately noticed a bundle in her arms that she had not carried earlier. As she held it tightly against her chest, Wyand thought he heard a faint sound like a muffled yawn emit from the mass of fabric. There was something alive in there. His expression must have conveyed his curiosity clearly, because the woman smiled and shook her head.
“This is a truth you are not yet ready to learn,” she said. “In Cynmere, you will come to understand. Do not look back at me again, Newfallen; let your eyes find their answers elsewhere.” Wyand turned to face forward as instructed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just witnessed something significant.
Through the thin layer of fog that drifted across the surface of the lake, Wyand saw the edge of the shoreline at last come into view. It was still many strides away, but the boat was drawing nearer as it moved farther downstream. The high walls of living rock loomed over the fog and now shone a brilliant red from the rising sun. Perhaps it was the fog or the early morning light, but the color of the stones lining the shore seemed far too uniformly white to be any rock that Wyand recognized. As the boat moved closer, he noticed formations in these stones that also defied all convention—not only were there standard shapes like spheres and plates, but there were intricate lattices and sharp spires as well. Only when the boat made landfall could Wyand finally distinguish that these weren’t stones at all. Forming a nearly solid layer over the mud at the water’s edge were thousands upon thousands of bones.
Disbelief and horror coursed through Wyand’s body in waves as he surveyed the scene and recalled his lessons on physiology. Each set of these bones, now broken and strewn about, had belonged to a person. Tattered strips of clothing still clung faithfully to the remains of their owners, the small patches of colored fabric emphasizing the sheer enormity of the field of stark white bones. What is this place? What could possibly cause so much death? Wyand thought, praying that his “rescuers” did not plan to add his bones to the gruesome landscape.
“Do not worry, Newfallen,” the woman said as the boat came to a halt. “We will protect you.” Wyand silently disobeyed the command and worried even more now that she had spoken. His eyes suddenly noticed movement in the mud a few strides from the boat and he searched for its source. Amidst the bones were a multitude of what looked like branches from very short, barren saplings, and the nearest pair of these branches quivered and flexed as he watched. Suddenly, the branches rose out of the mud, revealing that they belonged to a larger creature beneath the surface. As it came into view, Wyand tried to comprehend the shape of the body that was topped with these branch-like appendages, but oddly the only thing it reminded him of was a water pitcher. Four tendrils extended down from the lip of the pitcher and lifted it off of the ground until it stood at knee height, then the creature began using these tendrils to move rapidly towards the boat.
An arrow from one of the Sentinels struck the beast with a sickening crack and it fell into one of the piles of bones. Within seconds, Wyand saw dozens more branches in the area begin to quiver, followed by more of the creatures emerging from the mud. They swarmed the fallen one, the tops of their pitchers fanning open as they latched onto its carcass. Arrows found three more of the creatures even farther from the boat, and the swarming process spread to these bodies as well.
“Haugaeldr,” the woman said with a mixture of caution and familiarity as she pointed to the frenzy of motion. “Keep away from them—far away—as we move forward.”
Wyand wanted nothing to do with the haugaeldr, so that would be an
easy order to follow, but the thought of leaving the safety of the boat for the death-covered shore terrified him. Can something as small as that really be the reason for all of these bones? Wyand wondered. Watching the speed with which the haugaeldr disposed of their own dead, however, he could imagine what would happen to people if they were swarmed by these things.
The Sentinels were the first to leap into the mud off the front of the boat, and they immediately loosed arrows into the distance. The rest of the crew hurriedly disembarked, and Wyand was roughly pulled up by the two men closest to him once the woman had left the boat. Each member of the crew took his oar with him, and Wyand noted with curiosity that every oar tip was fitted with a single sharp metal spike. He longed for answers, but these people moved with unfaltering speed that afforded Wyand no chance to think.
When the full group was formed, six of the men broke away to take up positions along the outside of the boat. With what looked like surprisingly little effort, they silently flipped the boat over and held it above their heads. Small streams of water ran down Wyand’s neck after the six men walked the boat into place over him and the rest of the crew. There was no signal of any kind that Wyand could distinguish, but in a single instant every member of the group moved forward in unison. Their steps were nearly as silent as the Venerates’, though Wyand’s own footfalls pressed loudly into the mud. Without looking down, he shuddered with revulsion each time he accidentally kicked one of the bones he was trying so desperately to avoid. The man holding Wyand’s right arm growled quietly after one particularly loud encounter between Wyand’s foot and what had to be a hip bone. The resulting clatter was loud enough that the crew came to a halt and the woman turned around to look at Wyand incredulously.
“Do you wish us all death, Newfallen?” she hissed quietly. Wyand shook his head rapidly, pleading for his eyes to convey his unspoken apologies. “Step with more care or the haugaeldr will come for us,” she whispered sternly, then spun back around. The group continued forward with Wyand surveying the ground before taking each step. The sound of arrows striking the haugaeldr became less and less frequent as the mud became drier, until at last Wyand’s feet were clear of the bone field entirely. Even with his view obscured by the boat above and the men on all sides, Wyand saw the base of the canyon wall approaching. He attempted a deep breath of relief, but received a throat full of coarse fibers instead thanks to the ever-present cloth in his mouth.
As Wyand suppressed a fit of coughing, the shadow of the boat lifted from over his head. Without slowing, the six men carried the boat over to a pile of enormous rocks that were mounded against the red stone walls. Wyand hadn’t thought anything of it before, but as he studied the painted belly of the boat now it made sense. It matched the color of the canyon walls perfectly, and when it was stacked with the large boulders it became virtually invisible. Why anyone would want or need to hide a boat was just one more thing that Wyand did not understand. Once they were finished, the six boat carriers rushed back and fell into step with the main group.
Wyand spotted a narrow fissure in the wall of rock ahead, and it quickly became clear that would be where he was led next. The sheer side of the canyon seemed to soar infinitely higher now that it filled the left side of his vision, though Wyand found it increasingly difficult to keep his head up and his eyes open. Even after the sun at last disappeared behind the overcast layer of cloud, the morning still felt unusually warm to Wyand. Moisture in the air was thick enough that it made him feel as though he was back in the lake again, his legs struggling to keep moving forward. The men holding Wyand’s arms tugged him along if his pace slowed too greatly, and each time their pulling grew harsher. Wyand’s exhaustion had finally grown beyond a point that he could control.
“Wait,” the woman said more loudly than usual, and at once the unceasing march stopped. Wyand looked up, fearful that his actions had led this group to label him as a burden that they were no longer willing to shoulder. She turned her gaze to meet Wyand’s, but a moment later she looked past him. As she walked by, Wyand saw that she still carried the mysterious bundle in her arms. Whatever was in the cloth shifted slightly, and the woman whispered something softly until the movement stopped. She approached a tangle of branches at the edge of the canyon wall and carefully pulled away the outermost limb.
Wyand could not see what lay beneath the branch, but he heard the woman hiss between her teeth and back away quickly. The men of the group fanned out to surround the mass of sticks, the sharp metal tips of their oars pointed dangerously towards whatever the woman had found. Wyand’s two “companions” still held fast to his arms, but each of them had produced a long, curved knife when he wasn’t watching. Whatever this discovery was, the crew of the boat was approaching it with even more caution than the haugaeldr of the lake. Then one of the men used his oar to knock aside another large branch and Wyand could see what had the group on edge.
Hidden within the mesh of limbs was a person, another “woman” from what Wyand could see of her appearance, though she wore a ragged tan robe instead of the odd overlapping plates that covered every member of his group. She did not stir, but her eyes darted to each person that stood over her. In the instant her gaze sought Wyand out, he could immediately see unimaginable fear was the only thing left in this woman’s mind. He couldn’t be sure, but Wyand thought he saw her tear-streaked face glowing dimly with the same faint yellow color as the lights in the lake.
“End it, before she is forced to feel the true pain,” the woman from the boat said quietly. Without a moment of hesitation, four spiked oars from the nearest boatmen plunged into the robed woman’s chest and pulled free covered in blood.
Wyand screamed through the cloth in his mouth. These people were murderers, just like the Venerates, just like the haugaeldr. And just like me, the voice of truth whispered. Death was everywhere; he couldn’t escape it.
Tears filled Wyand’s eyes, from sympathy as much as frustration—he had left one group of killers in Aldhagen only to be captured by another outside its walls. One of the boatmen cut the dead woman’s brown sima loose while another produced a torch, lit it through some means Wyand did not see, and proceeded to set the fallen woman’s robes on fire. Despite the dampness from the storm, only a few seconds passed before the tangle of branches that held her was transformed into a staggering blaze.
Wyand mourned this woman, whoever she had been, and feared for his own life in the hands of his captors. No amount of explanation could ever justify the horror he’d just witnessed—his open eyes had found their thousand answers, and they were all equally terrible.
8
Keltin’s head swayed with each movement of the cart as it sped across the burning sand. He was awake, but barely, and still guiding the nysks. Where he had rejoiced at the sight of the sun at dawn, now he longed for its stifling heat to once again cease for the day. It’s not yet Second Calling, Keltin thought as he eyed the sun with tired irritation. The day was far from over.
When he first launched the cart into motion the night before, Keltin had no idea what direction he was headed. All he cared about was escaping the valley and finding help for Tir. It took hours for the cart to exit the far end of the valley and return to the Plateau Desert, but even then Keltin checked over his shoulder numerous times before he was willing to believe the Cynmeren weren’t still pursuing him. Fear continued to plague him through the night, but mercifully it brought plenty of nervous energy with it too.
During a moment of relative calm and clarity in the night, Keltin realized that he had to find the direction to Dism Slyde if he hoped to aid Tir. He remembered the Vessel Guard mentioning that Dism Slyde was a day’s journey North, so Keltin just needed to orient himself. Thankfully, a familiar group of stars marked the northern sky, and Keltin found them quickly as he had done many times before. He guided the nysks towards these stars and prayed that was truly the route to Dism Slyde.
Now, hours later, all Keltin wanted was sleep—deep, exhausted, collapse-on-
the-floor sleep. He knew that wasn’t an option since there were still plenty of rocks in the path ahead that would splinter the cart to bits, but rest was a pleasant thought nonetheless. Keltin shook the idea of sleep from his head and forced his fatigued eyes to focus again; something looked different about the horizon. He perked up; this was the first change in the otherwise uniform landscape since leaving the valley. In the distance, and for as far as he could see to both the left and right, a dark wall clawed at the sky. Keltin laughed once to himself in surprise. That must be Dism Slyde! he hoped excitedly, both for Tir’s sake and his own. Driving the nysks had lost its novelty many strides ago; now it was just a task like any other.
Tir stirred on the floor of the cart. Keltin glanced down, but didn’t expect much from the Vessel Guard. Since falling victim to the Cynmeren’s attack, Tir had only moved occasionally. This time, though, he coughed and actually opened his eyes.
“Tir?” Keltin asked hesitantly, glancing back and forth from the Vessel Guard to the path ahead. Tir grunted in reply, then coughed again.
“Where….” Tir attempted to ask before his mouth went slack. Keltin hastily positioned the cart towards a section of open sand and lifted one of the water containers to Tir’s mouth. The man was able to drink, even if he couldn’t talk. A faint smile curled the edges of Tir’s mouth, then his eyes suddenly leapt open with great concern. He grunted loudly, jerking his head away from the water.
“Guide…the…CART!” Tir shouted between breaths. Keltin backed away and did as instructed; he was just glad to see Tir’s mobility and speech had finally returned, albeit slowly and accompanied by considerable irritability. After a moment, Tir started to bend and shift in an effort to reach a sitting position. Keltin released the nysk controls again to assist him, but Tir’s eyes flashed menacingly from Keltin to the controls.
Kingdomturn Page 14
