Drakon Book II: Uncarved

by C. A. Caskabel

I had answers to their questions, even the lesser ones. I knew why some oaks still had their leaves in winter and others did not. To the men, I was a wizard in there. Nothing less. I did remember some of the paths, tried to guess the rest, and I followed my instinct to get as close as possible to Kar-Tioo. Close enough for the Dasal to spot us.

  The only thing I didn’t know was what I would do when we made it there—when my fearful men would come face to face with the Dasal, the ones they believed to be servants of the Demon. Was I so strong a wizard to spread my arms and separate the world into two to protect one from slaughtering the other? I could just about manage that with the First Pack. But if Malan with his thousand warriors ever came north, there would be no Dasal left alive—man or woman.

  On the fourth day, I saw the footmarks of the Dasal and heard the light-footed shadows among the trees.

  “Someone is following us,” said Sani.

  We were not far now, perhaps only one or even half a day’s road.

  “We make camp here, and I’ll go to them alone,” I said to Sani.

  “What? No. Why?” he replied.

  “If they see us all charging in, they will panic. They’ll fight or run away, and I don’t want any of that in here. They rule trees and animals,” I said.

  “It’s madness to go in alone,” said Sani.

  “We will come too,” said Leke.

  I took only two men with me, Leke and Temin, who was young and didn’t ask much, and moved north. When we were close enough to smell the fires we dropped our blades, and only then did the Dasal come out to lead us to their huts. I had to find a good excuse. The one about herbs, crazygrass, and exchanges made no sense in the ice of winter.

  I spoke with Veker alone in his hut and told him the truth. Or at least a bit of the truth.

  “Our Tribe is looking for the road toward the West. You have to show me. Better for me to find it than the others.”

  “There are many roads. If you go way south or far, far north. Not here. That is why we chose to live here.”

  “How far south?”

  “Before your river and through the mountains. It’s a treacherous footpath.”

  “North?”

  “Very far. You’ll never get there now, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Why do you want to go to the West? The Forest protects you.”

  “From what?”

  “From them—the other side.”

  “Have you seen…them?”

  “Yes, I have seen them. The Western Empire is invincible. Only the Forest could stop it. That was why my ancestors hid here, to be free.”

  “Can you lead us?”

  “The Dasal live by an oath, and that is to never go back to the West. I would come with you—only dead. Now that your Tribe made it in here, we cannot go east or south either.”

  “I can force you.”

  “I told you before, if you step outside of the Forest to the West, the Empire will raze you. I have seen both of you in battle.”

  “You will come with me.”

  “No. Leave now. Before spring, the paths are impossible to cross. I wouldn’t even try.”

  “I’ll leave, but I’ll take Zeria with me.”

  “Are you mad? It’s only three of you. I had told you never to come back. I make one sign and your men are dead. This is my last word.”

  “I have to see her.”

  “The only reason you are still alive is because you freed me that night from the cage.”

  I never freed him.

  “I never freed you. I saved your daughter but not you.”

  “A hooded man unlocked the cage. He spoke your name. And his voice was young—”

  “Like mine. And he wore the same clothes.”

  “Who was he?”

  I swallowed my anger in two breaths and managed to lie. “Someone I sent. Now I must see Zeria.”

  “I won’t bring her. Know that Zeria is already—”

  I was ready to crush his head on the cut stump he was sitting on and take him with me, tied up if necessary. Zeria walked in as if she could hear my raging heart. A stream of frozen wind entered the hut with her. I desperately searched for a warm smile.

  “Da-Ren, come with me, I beg you,” she said.

  Her open palm almost ordered Veker to stand down.

  Before I turned to leave with her, I said to Veker, “It is dangerous now. Many men from the Tribe have entered the Forest south from here. Stay here, north, until things calm down.”

  I didn’t give a damn about Veker or the Dasal. Only one.

  “We know how to hide and stay out of trouble. It is dangerous for everyone. Including you,” said Veker.

  I grabbed Zeria by the hand and we stepped outside into the gray, bleak wood. She was pulling me away.

  “Not here, it is not safe,” she said.

  There were many Dasal men around us, watching, and approaching. One of them, young and fair looking, was trying to reach me, while two more were pushing him back.

  How I wish you’d let him free. Bring him to me. I know who you are. Come, claim her.

  Zeria was pulling me away from them, but I kept looking at the danger. Leke had left Temin with the horses and was coming my way to help.

  “Hide your eyes. My men must not see the blue,” I whispered to Zeria.

  I ran to stop Leke before he came closer.

  “Leke, I have to speak to their witch. She knows the secret paths,” I said.

  He nodded without a word.

  A few breaths later I had disappeared away from all eyes with Zeria. She took an uphill path and I followed. When we reached a slope that cut our way abruptly, she stopped. We were about a hundred feet high. In the void stood one tree alone, clawing with its dark branches on the rocky cliff. Its gnarled body was the only thing that broke the fog below our feet.

  You don’t belong here, tree.

  “You don’t belong here, boy,” it whooshed back.

  Zeria cut my thoughts, only to say the same thing. “It’s late, Da-Ren.”

  Late? We were under a dark sky, but it was still midday.

  Four whole moons had filled from the time I saw her last. The day I promised that I would be back for her in one moon.

  I tried to come back for you.

  She wasn’t looking at me, and when she was it was even colder.

  Where is your smile, girl?

  “I tried to—” I tried to explain.

  “Saim said that you would not come back for a while. Much longer than four moons,” she said.

  She kept walking carefully close to the dropping cliff, more to avoid my eyes and words rather than to get anywhere. I followed, I tried to say my Stories, about Gunna, Malan, the Blades. Not about the naked Ouna-Mas.

  The farther away from the huts we got, the more she talked of trivial things. “We gathered enough supplies last summer. This winter is dark and heavy in snow, but we are well-protected from the winds here.”

  I didn’t care about any of that. I wanted to steal a night with her. A real night, like the one I’d had with Razoreyes.

  We were descending through the winter woods and after a while we miraculously reached the pond, where the arrow had hit me. Around my feet, the leaves had frozen red, gold and some even green, like the colorful tongues of monsters that didn’t manage to finish their words. Everything was still, sleeping, to rise again much later.

  “You chose a bad moon,” she told me.

  “It chose me. I could not come sooner,” I answered.

  “Why did you come here again, Da-Ren? Our story died with the autumn leaves, moons ago. Our light no longer shines.”

  I took her hand.

  “What does that mean? I left to find the monsters. Only when I defeat them will I be able to sleep peacefully here with you,” I told her.

  “You should have stayed with me the first time. Now it’s too late. We are leaving for north, come spring. Before you hunt again.”

  “You must wait for me.�
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  “Last night…I had to defy the men alone to save your life once more. My people were cursing and asking Veker for your death when they first saw you two days ago. They know what you bring. This is the last time I will ever see you. I promised them; you’ll leave and they’ll spare your life.”

  “No, I will come back. In seven nights after the first moon of spring.”

  “We will not be here.”

  “Damn them! You will be. You’ll meet me here.” My eyes searched around for a mark. “There, by the fallen oak that touches the pond. The fallen oak will be here, and so will you.”

  “We’ll be far away by then. If we stay here, we’re prey. You, your monsters, anyone can come and—”

  I pulled her closer and kissed her lips. She did not resist, but she did not embrace me either. An icy cloak, the armor of love lost, covered her.

  I am going to kiss your lips just once. A burning kiss as if you were my Ouna-Ma. I am going to kiss you a thousand times just once.

  Her lips were a red of chafed flesh and frozen blood; her tongue was warm but lifeless. The winter kiss lasted only two breaths. I ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, and with the other, I instinctively grabbed my blade, as if I needed to protect us from whatever was coming. But nothing came, not even a smile, not even a second kiss.

  “Go. Find peace and forget,” she said. She put her hands on my shoulders as if she wanted to point me in the right direction. Away from her. “My father has forbidden me from seeing you ever again,” she said.

  “Veker doesn’t matter. No one does. Seven nights after the first moon of spring. We will be together here, Zeria.”

  She took her gaze away from me. We walked back to the huts in silence.

  “One moon, Zeria. I won’t leave until you say yes.”

  “Then…yes. I beg you for the last time. I can’t save you from the dead again, Da-Ren. Go, now.”

  She turned her back and reached the huts alone. I followed her, until I lost her in a group of Dasal who protectively gathered around her.

  I motioned to both of my men that we were leaving.

  “There is a pass. South, through the mountains, but no one can cross it until the third moon of spring. We have to tell Khun-Malan. We gather our Pack and we ride to him,” I told them. I wasn’t lying. Just choosing my truths.

  We left the wood behind and led the horses to the vast frozen meadows under the open sky. We could move much faster there, and five days later we reentered the Forest in the south and caught up with Malan earlier than I expected. It wasn’t difficult to track an expedition of a thousand warriors who were afraid of Forest demons.

  Malan called me immediately to his tent. This one was a campaign tent and barely fit six men, bowing almost. He had abandoned the glorious abode of the Sirol camp and was in a hurry to get this campaign over with.

  “What did you learn over there?” he asked.

  “There is a passage in the south. That was what the Dasal told me. But ice and snow cover it in winter.”

  “We will continue until we find it. You will be in front.”

  “It’s a very small pass. The horses can go through only one by one,” I said. “No carts can follow.” The lies were crawling of their own will, like roaches out of my mouth.

  “If the supplies and the war machines can’t get through, we cannot go to battle with the West,” said the Reghen.

  “It wouldn’t be wise. I’ve heard words of a Western Empire. And they say it is very powerful,” I said.

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “The Dasal told me.”

  “Did you torture them or ask them with your honeycomb voice?” Malan asked.

  I didn’t answer, so he continued.

  “Can you tell me why you haven’t brought even one captive to show us the way? Are you stupid?”

  It was the first time he called me that since the Sieve. I swallowed my rage and my words. Whenever I was forced to tell so many lies, I truly sounded like a fool.

  “Those Dasal always seem to get away from you, Da-Ren. But winter is almost over, and then we’ll round them up all. I will make a forest of stakes at the Blackvein and stick their heads there. I’ll boil their light eyes and throw them to the dogs.”

  I didn’t say a word.

  We continued forward and southward into the Forest. I tried to stay away from Malan so he could forget me, forget them. He kept calling to me and asking me questions. Most of the others couldn’t tell him anything about the Forest. Not even the Ouna-Mas.

  Not only were the Ouna-Mas not helping us by clearing the paths with some magic spell, but they were also slowing us down with their rituals, which raised the men’s fears. If there was a willow tree in front of us, they forbade anyone from touching it. Willows were considered the protector spirits of the Blackvein, revered for keeping the Cross Worshippers of the South away.

  “It is the ancient willow pact, made by Ouna-Ma, the Blind, the First. We don’t touch them, and they protect us,” a Reghen said.

  How did the Blind know of willows? Again, I chose not to speak. I so much wanted to be Reghen for one day only, just to find out if they truly believed all that came out of their mouth. So many lies, for so long, so many times, Reghen. They multiply like the roaches of the Undead.

  If it was oak or birch, we were free to cut it to bits. If it was a walnut tree, then the Witches would stop anyone from even passing by it.

  “Sah-Ouna asked for green walnut leaves,” a Rod said to me one afternoon. “But she cannot touch them herself. Bring them to me so that I can take them to her.”

  “I can’t either, unless I wait underneath the tree for three moons.” Some of the young Rods had spent every day of their lives in Sirol, guarding Malan’s tent. They didn’t know anything about anything else. “Walnut trees don’t have any leaves in winter. Are you sure that Sah-Ouna asked you this?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will speak to her.”

  “No, you don’t need to.”

  Walnut leaves were necessary ingredients for many spells, and many Ouna-Mas wanted them. This was not the easiest of routes in the Forest, with the false stories of the Ouna-Mas being our only guides. It wasn’t enough that our men were attached to the magic and stupidity, but inside the Forest, their horrors came to life. If we came across a hazelnut tree, we stopped for a long while because an animal had to be sacrificed. We didn’t have many goats with us, so it was whatever we could find.

  We dismounted and walked with our horses for seven long days and covered a distance that, alone, I could have traveled in one night. Eventually, we were south enough where the snow patches melted and some brave trees even spurted their first green. We were warmed by false hopes. Each small glade and each large clearing was succeeded by stone-covered hills and crags, and then the wood rose again, denser than before. The Forest would end many times only to thrust its next tentacle.

  Three days later we thought that we had come to the end of our journey, but it was only the end of our patience. It was early morning, and I was riding first. The meager dawn’s light passed with difficulty through the thick fog and branches, but a crisp westerly wind was breathing against my face. By noon I had made it to the end of the Forest where the sun rays beamed plentiful and unhindered. The trees thinned, and ahead of us rose hills and mountains, black stone at the bottom and white snow on top, just as the Trackers had foretold. The course stopped, and the men camped at the foothills.

  Malan ordered twelve other men and me to move forward with him. We climbed a hill almost two thousand feet tall. We descended and ascended an even taller one. And then a third, which was a treacherous mountain that tried to swallow us. We lost three men in the gorges and blind cliff drops. It took more days of climbing and nights of sheltering to reach a spot where we could have a clear view of what was ahead of us.

  I finally reached the summit. Not the tallest one, but one where I could see the whole West. Malan was behind me. I rubbed my eyes, whi
ch had remained half-closed against the cold wind. There, across from us, spread the undefeated Empire of the West. Her warriors were nothing but giant firs, arrayed and evenly aligned, still and fearless, countless and endless. They wore their black and white armor, that of frozen wood and snow. The firs grew closely together, like an army of immovable giants, thirty feet tall, their icy spears even taller. Yet another forest. The forest ended somewhere to the north and south, where the clouds, fog, horizon, and snow all became one white nothing. Farther back rose a great mountain chain, like a black stone castle, thousands of feet tall, its invisible summits tearing through the gray clouds. Mountains that ended all paths to the west.

  Mountains higher. Forests larger. The words of the Tracker and of Rouba.

  I turned to look at Malan. He wouldn’t look back at me. He had just been handed his first defeat from the West’s army of firs and stone mountains. That which no horse could pass through and would swallow any rain of arrows we showered on them only to spit back at us hunger and despair. We were trapped.

  With all the strength we had left, we turned back to the thousand men who were dying slow deaths in the land of the invisible Reekaal. We ran like hunted prey and the thorny branches marked us all with countless scratches, like tiny demon swords that remembered us from the Sieve.

  They welcomed us back with cheers and bellows that died fast when they saw that Malan had no words for them. He shut himself in Sah-Ouna’s tent.

  “What do we do, Chief? Did you see them? The demons of the West?” asked the men of the First Pack as soon as I returned.

  “Yes, this campaign is dead. We will soon head back to Sirol,” I said.

  I was wrong. We would continue our search. Malan refused to believe his fate.

  “We continue farther south until we find the pass,” he ordered.

  We wandered toward the south for many a dark night and days that felt even darker, parallel to the foothills, without daring to climb the mountain again.

  Malan was pushing everyone forward. He rode first, a blind man, a Khun in search of his foretold fate.

  At the council of the fourth night after our return, the First of the Trackers spoke, “I sent men ahead and they are back. They didn’t find any path through the mountains. I had told you, my Khun.”