The Vastness

by Hausladen, Blake;

  The sat in silence around the fire, some with wet eyes, others looking sick.

  “What do you intend, Dia?” Ghemma asked.

  “I mean to get as many people away from Geart and his Hessier as I can and make my way north to Enhedu with any who would go with me, including you, Burhn, if you would join me.”

  He nodded and the rest answered with their silence.

  The telling had me trembling. We sat around the fire and watched it burn. No one said a word.

  When the fire was low I summoned the courage to ask my own questions.

  My voice was very small when I said, “I would be in your debt if you could tell me what you know of the Enhedu and my husband. When last I saw him, he was bound for Bessradi for the Autumn meeting of the Council of Lords. I have heard nothing of the world since.”

  “Oh, dear me,” Ghemma said, crossed to take hold of my hands, and told me in a mad rush how Lord Vall had died, and how Prince Rahan had emerged from under Barok’s wing to claim the throne and start a civil war that split the capital in two. Barok had escaped the city and was rumored to be raising an army of northerners to come to Rahan’s aid. The rest of Zoviya was tearing itself apart, including Berm. The Lira Valley and the Yentif there were already moving north to oppose Rahan, and the Hemari would be coming south in the spring to press the lake people into Yarik’s service.

  The rest reacted to most of this as though it was as news to them as well and they gave her long sideways looks.

  She folded her arms at them. “What? I’m from Dagoda. It’s not my fault if my idiot husband left his correspondence where I could read it.”

  “It’s all true,” Burhn said, which multiplied their frowns and made Ghemma smile.

  My many humors and worries were held back for a long moment as the memory of a man’s smiling face and his arrogant wink.

  Selt. Damn him. A Yentif prince all along. I would kiss him as soon as I finish strangling him.

  They began to question her and Burhn about what else they knew about Berm’s business, but she was quick to deflect by turning to me.

  “The Hessier that came for us, Geart I think you said his name was, he killed Aden?”

  “Yes, and we must get away from him. We must get to Bessradi,” I said. “Rahan and Barok must be warned that he is coming.”

  “What is so different about him?”

  I opened my daughter’s wrap and showed them her missing arm. “It’s not what is different. It’s what he has. The bone and blood of her family is what they use the make the Hessier and the Ashmari. Geart’s magic is very strong and there is no telling what he can do with that small piece of her. He is coming for her and will not stop.”

  They looked to Burhn. He could only nod.

  “We must warn the lake people,” Harmond said.

  The rest began to talk all at once. “How many could we take north with us?” someone asked.

  “I have family here,” another said.

  “We will take as many as we can,” I said. “Starting with this village. Harmond, can you convince them to flee their homes?”

  “Berm is our home,” he said. “We go where we need.”

  He started across, and I was relieved that I did not need to speak to the villagers. I didn’t have the stomach for any more speeches or questions.

  It happened quickly. He knew his fellows well. The town gathered what it could, and we started west in the morning with every soul. They had no horses and walked at the pace of the eight-man teams that carried the upturned flatboats. They talked little.

  Some took trails north and south—people with family in other villages upon other lakes. The tumble of low hills swallowed them up, and the route we found through the snowy pines made me long for Enhedu. The sound of us was swallowed up by the thick forest, and for a moment I was back in Enhedu upon my great horse with nothing and no one who could trouble us.

  We camped that night upon a ridge that overlooked another small lake, and I’d not felt so safe since I’d slept in Urnedi. Every tumble of low hills, each gully, grotto, and dell would confound whatever witless Hessier Geart sent after us.

  After more of the boats broke off the next morning, our numbers fell to around 700 souls. It snowed overnight, but it was hard to be discouraged. We were halfway to Pashwarmuth and the tithe road that ran from there to Bessradi was sure to be an easy road.

  The pond we crossed the next day was hardly worth the effort to launch the boats, it was so small. It did have a pleasant view, though. The pines on its shores were draped in the fresh snow and the rising sun coaxed tumbles of it free. Each shelf of snow that fell from a high branch would cause the entire tree to shed its coat in a blizzard of glistening flakes.

  “Oh, look,” Ghemma said, “we have company.”

  We followed her finger to the southeast corner of the pond where a trio of caribou were making their way west. Their run brought down one pine worth of snow after another, and I was smiling throughout the show until I noticed all three were pregnant mares.

  Harmond’s face began to sour.

  “Shouldn’t they be headed south?” I asked.

  A dark tingle crept along my limb and we watched with increasing horror at what we saw but did not want to believe. The three animals were not caribou anymore. They movement was broken and frantic. No hot breath swirled about their snots. They were something like Hessier, and they had found us.

  When they turned at us and began swimming, panic took over. I could not find my tongue or raise my arms. Most stopped rowing. Two boats beyond their touch broke north. One man jumped overboard. He swam for a moment before sinking from view.

  They were upon us in moments, and with them came the smell of rotten meat and hair. They began to attack the boats, kicking up over the sides. One boat capsized, and the beasts bashed at those who went into the water until they sank from view.

  “Harmond, your club,” I gasped. “Open their skulls.”

  He managed to get hold of it, and yelled to his men to do the same, but none of them had wits to raise them. Another boat went over while the fear swirled my head.

  I couldn’t keep my chin up. The feeling was so much less than the black vise of Geart or any other Hessier, but I was too tired to fight. I tried to stand. I tried to yell out, but there was nothing left of me. The boat began to rock wildly and I tried to clutch Clea. I would not let her drown, but she was not there. I was left to stare in confusion at the bottom of the swaying boat.

  I heard a crack and the chilled grip weakened.

  More meaty whacks followed and I saw a caribou float away from our boat. The other two thrashed their way over the side as they came for us. The hooves of the first stuck the rail near where I stood. I managed to slide back from it, but could do no more. Again, the boat rocked until Harmond’s long club struck down at them. All was still around us.

  When the sickening tingle passed. I spun to find Clea. Neither Ghemma or Burhn had her, the pair locked in a desperate embrace. I was growing frantic when Harmond turned. He’d taken her from my arms and stood staring at her, grizzly club in hand. I’d seen the hungry look before and hurried to take her away from him. He let me do it, but was dim as if drunk.

  Some congratulated him. Others sat, sad and sullen.

  “Get yourselves together,” I said to them. “There will be more. To your oars.”

  They were slow to it. Some wept. One boat rowed to retrieve bodies, despite my protests, until they realized they were taking on water. Several boats were damaged, and the bodies were forgotten as we struggled to get everyone to the north shore.

  The calm of the lake people was all but gone. Some cried and every simple thing became very hard. We called on them to hurry and it took too long for them to start the next portage. Ghemma and Burhn held hands as though it was the last thing they would ever do.

  Harmond’s men carried their clubs on their shoulders as we marched north. They stayed close to me, and I tried to be cheered, but did not like the loo
k in their eyes. I kept Clea covered and out of site.

  The portage proved a short one over a ridge, and from the high vantage I was heartened to see an enormous blue almond named Lake Goad. On the far side we would find Pashwarmuth, its tithe roads, and wagons. Knowing where we were, I began to search the eastern shoreline for the small town I knew to be there.

  “Yentifrani,” Harmond said and pointed to a smug of smoke obscured by the thick trees. “It is an ugly place run by slavers. It might have been faster for us to stay east and enter Goad from there, but I’ll not set foot in that miserable town.”

  “Lord Vall grew up on this lake.”

  “That’s the story. I’ve also heard he would chase down bull caribou on foot with nothing but a knife. This might be where the Yentif came from but Lord Vall was not Bermish.”

  With nothing more to say we trudged down the last of the ridge. A large number of boats had already gathered there. Word had spread fast. We joined the rough camp and the reunions of a few families inspired a bit of cheer. The chatter though was of the unnatural things, the monsters that were on the hunt in the trees. Some did not believe the danger was real. Others were angry we were not already moving and wanted to set across the lake at once. A wise voice suggested we head southwest and out across the tundra to live off the herd until the trouble passed.

  I gave the idea some thought, too. I would not have said no to a fresh cutting of caribou fat and an afternoon working with candles.

  The notion was shouted down by those with families on the east side of the tithe road who wanted to get across to warn them.

  “We need not go together,” I said about the rising voices. “West, north, east. No one here can tell you where you should go. I say only that you should go now.”

  “Where will you go?” one of them shouted at me.

  “I will cross to Pashwarmuth and get as far away from the darkness as I can. The Hessier coming north will kill us all.”

  The crowd hissed at me. None of them wanted to leave Berm.

  Burhn, still hand-in-hand with Ghemma, said, “I was an acolyte of the Priests’ Home. Many of you know me. We kidnapped Dia and it was our intention to render her children into powdered bone and rule the world. The corruption that led us to this wickedness is what we are fleeing from now. You go where you will, but the boats with us are going north and we will leave Berm behind, though it rips out my hearts to do so. We are leaving now. I urge you to do the same.”

  A few continued to squabble until Burhn and Ghemma started to move. Harmond called the rest to follow and everyone from Verd began to move. The debate behind us faded. Most hurried after us and followed us out onto the lake. The rest headed up the east shore. I could not blame them for trying to save their families.

  One boat went southwest, and I watched them go with a touch of envy. I would never see the tundra again.

  We made it out into the center of the lake beneath a clear sky. I stood, stretched, and admired the solitary whist of cloud that dared to try to cross the heaven alone. It seemed as doomed as we were.

  My back and shoulders were the first to alert me that something more substantial was changing. I needed to sit and nudged Burhn’s shoulder, hoping he would move.

  “Something is wrong,” he said.

  “I know. I’m having a baby. Help if you can or get the hell out of out of the way. I am in the middle of a contraction.”

  None of them seemed not to hear me, and I had to plop myself onto the section of seat between Burhn and Ghemma. They kept holding hands right around me.

  “The boats that went east,” he said. “They are headed back this way. Rowing fast.”

  “They have found us,” Ghemma said. “Hundreds of them at least.”

  This made no sense to me until the contraction passed and I could get a look for myself at the frothy line moving across the lake. Here and there, a dark spot that might be a boat was caught by the froth. None of them would make it. Ahead of us, Pashwarmuth was a hazy smudge of brown building along a wall of trees.

  “Will make it to the town?” I asked.

  “Yes, but what then? On land they will run us down,” Harmond said.

  “We must fight them,” I said.

  Burhn and Harmond looked at each other but said nothing. I tried to say more. I wanted to convince them to fight and to win, but another contraction took me. A third crashed upon me with no more than a gulp of air between.

  “Too close together,” I said at some point. “Someone’s in a damned hurry.”

  Ghemma became aware of my situation then, and it was a relief when she took charge. A hasty layer of coat became a makeshift bed and she laid me down.

  “This is not your first time,” she said, and held my hand. “Breathe between the contractions. Relax.”

  Her calm was helpful, but before I could lay my head back and focus, a tingle of fear began to creep up my arm. When the next contraction came I had no good sense of time or touch.

  “Row faster,” someone shouted. The next contraction passed and another piled right on top of it. I tried to push.

  “Not yet, Dia. Next one,” she said, “Relax. You’re not ready.”

  When the next contraction stabbed me, I could not keep from pushing and Ghemma began to sing. It was their ten-word verse and it banished the touch of Geart’s foul creature. I relaxed back and the contraction passed.

  Ghemma stroked by face and found the will to gift me a touch of the blue. It felt better than the warmth of the sun and the smile of my children, but as the last note faded, the dark grip returned like the slap of cold ire. The next contraction followed.

  The boy inside me wanted out. I screamed and pushed. The choirs’ song pulled away the dark touch once more, but it only took away the fear. I lost all sense of the world. I was slammed sideways, and then hands were upon me.

  Yells and screams bit my ears, and I fell hard onto a surface that did not bob with the waves.

  I lay upon the end of a wide and heavy pier. Our flatboats were crammed around it like the petals of a daisy, and people crowded up onto the pier.

  Ghemma verse washed over me again, and Harmond stood over me. I could hear the splash and baying of the caribou.

  ”Here,” Harmond yelled. “We fight them here.”

  I managed to prop myself up on my elbow. Pashwarmuth was wide and flat, with a single hill and tiny keep. Its brown buildings were thin and the stockade that ringed the town was old and broken. Its gates were closed. Harmond was right. We would live or die right there.

  The splashing grew louder.

  I turned to see a brown wave of mangled flesh. Their hides and white faces were torn and decayed, their eyes filled with madness.

  The next contraction came like a blanket of hate. The last thing that made sense was Ghemma kneeling next to me, Clea cradled in one arm.

  Pain, fear, and thunder. The pier shook. Men cried out.

  I wanted to stand—to fight. I pushed and I screamed. Tears blinded me. A man laid himself over my face and chest, and would not get off. Something hard slammed my forearm, and I heard the bone snap. The person lying across me cried out and went limp. I lost my breath as noises bashed at me. Ghemma was not singing. I felt a soft hand upon the inside of my thigh. It squeezed, urging me to push. I bit my lip and pushed. My face felt it would pop.

  “Out! Get out of me you stubborn damned Vesteal. Your father will hear about this.”

  He surrendered, moved, and as he went, so did the pain. The placenta quickly followed.

  I lay back on the hard pier and sipped air.

  Pain. Everything was pain.

  My child. I had to get to him.

  I wiped my eyes on the coarse tunica of the man who lay across me. It was one of Harmond’s men, and his head was smashed open. The caribou he’d protected me from lay alongside me. And all around me hooves beat upon the heavy planks while clubs cracked upon thick skulls.

  I got my good arm under the dead man’s body and rolled him up over my
head. The sun blinded me, and my smashed arm folded over as I tried to lift it. The world spun and lashed out in every direction around me.

  All I could do was roll onto my side and curl up. I had no voice. I had nothing to hold onto except the trembling planks.

  Where is my son?

  To my left, a caribou began to climb up onto the pier. Its eyes were focused upon something at my feet. I tried to get up—to cry out. I could only watch as it scrambled up and stood over me.

  A man’s voice pierced the sky, the brown shape above me was knocked away, and everything slowed. The white song blinded the yellow sun and the beat of hooves ceased. I baked in the violent light and found a good breath of air. Somewhere a club worked with my good arm, cracking one skull after another with a beat as regular as the song.

  The grip of terror diminished, and I found the strength to stand.

  A lone man stood at the end of the pier bashing away at the animated meat around him. His song had frozen the river, trapping the creatures in the ice. He smashed in one skull after another until the weakening grip of despair let go of me all together. Then his song faded and his club fell from his gray hand.

  Ghemma and Burhn lay between the man and me, and were struggling to get their knees. She did not have my children.

  The man turned, stumbled, and saw me. It was Harmond, but his skin and eyes were gray and his mouth was smeared with blood. He clutched a bundle in one arm.

  “Forgive me,” he said.

  “What did you do?” I screamed.

  He wept, and hugged the bundle close. “Their blood. To fight them. A voice whispered to me—gave me the song to free the water—to save us.”

  Fury thrust the world back. My ears rang, and I heard a whispering.

  ‘Burn him. Take it. Take the word and make him burn.’

  The haze of death there was thick. I’d felt the dark touch a hundred times but never like this. I wanted to sing. I wanted Harmond to burn. I could do it. My throat warmed and His word tickled my ears.

  Harmond fell forward onto the bloody planks and the bundle rolled opened. Two small heads appeared, both were covered in bit marks. Clea and my boy. I limped across and fumbled through the wrap. My boy … my boy …