“I just might have an inkling in that regard, yes, sir.”
“Rufus did learn to read. He studied Scripture. He became an upstanding and valuable member of our community here. As you saw, he was a deacon. And in tracking us from the ruins, you know that he and I spent a great deal of time together out in the wilderness. This was by my choice.” The Steward opened his hands. “You may think me foolish, but I liked the man, and trusted him. What I forgot, however, is that he was but an infant in things spiritual, and that made him vulnerable.”
Owen shook his head. “I’m not certain I follow you.”
“It should be obvious. The devil laid those tablets on that altar in the Temple. He did so to tempt men. Most would have taken the tablets for their material wealth. But for men who are favored of God, their spiritual value cannot be calculated. Though I could not translate them, I knew they held the secret of magicks older than man. I can see now that these were temptations to lead men to ruin. So it did here.”
Nathaniel frowned. “That don’t explain what happened in Piety. We know it was these demons what acted there, but there weren’t no Rufus. No one from Piety was here, saw the tablets, and got back home, was there?”
“No.” The Steward shook his head. “I cannot explain that, nor do I know the moment Rufus surrendered himself to the demons. It is my vain hope it was after we started for Piety, elsewise I shall have to live with knowing that I missed the signs and consequently consigned Happy Valley to death.”
The man’s shoulder’s slumped. “I accept this is God’s plan but I…” The Steward covered his face with his hands and his shoulder shook with silent sobs.
Nathaniel looked over at Makepeace. “You’ll tell me there’s Scriptures what agree that demons could make magick like that?”
The large man nodded. “Revelations 16:14, clear as day. ‘For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, who go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world.’”
“I could have started the day with better news.” Nathaniel sighed. “And I ain’t much pleased with Rufus’ being able to pluck a bullet out the air.”
“Yes, but he didn’t stop the chain. It’s being iron might have been the cause of that.” Owen’s eyes narrowed. “Or it could be that Rathfield surprised him. He knew you would shoot, so he was ready for you.”
“So, iffen he was possessed, leastways part of him is still in there.” Nathaniel shifted his shoulders uneasily. “I reckon we want to be quitting this place as fast as we can. Sooner we get back to Temperance, sooner someone might be able to make sense of all this.”
They returned to their cabin and discovered that some of the vessels had rotted during the night, specifically a wooden bowl and an iron pot. A copper-bottomed pot appeared in the best shape, and a crock gave it strong competition. Because the pot would not travel well when full, they found a number of small pottery urns and divided the soup among them. They sealed them and packed them in a layer of wet clay. They bound that up in leather and each man added one to his baggage.
They took as much food as they could from Happy Valley and left notes in several houses for anyone traveling there from the Green River settlement. While Ezekiel Fire wanted to visit Green River, he agreed that they couldn’t afford the time and that even a warning might not save the settlement. They all hoped the people of Green River would escape destruction, but there wasn’t a one of them that didn’t believe that it had already suffered the fate of Piety.
It took them a week to reach Dire Wolf Draw. They didn’t see any recent signs of wolf activity in the area, but that surprised no one. The wolves would follow herds during their migration. The few tracks they did find indicated the beasts had headed southwest along the spine of the mountains, which would bring them to the point where the great northern migration started. Nathaniel had never seen it, and had only heard of it in tales told by Msitazi of the Altashee.
“That is something I want to see before I die.” Nathaniel tossed a stick of wood on their campsite’s fire. “To hear your father tell it, Kamiskwa, just an ocean of brown beasts heading north. Mastodons, wooly rhinoceri, bison. Ain’t nothing like it in this here whole world.”
Kamiskwa unrolled one of the bundles of wolf furs and spread them out for airing. “I think then, my friend, it will need to be next spring. It will be our last chance.”
Makepeace laughed. “Ain’t nothing gonna be making the migration go away, Kamiskwa.”
Nathaniel grunted. “I reckon he’s saying we ain’t going to be around come summer a year hence.”
Makepeace thought for a moment, then nodded. “I reckon that’s something worth considering.”
Owen sighed heavily. “You know, three years ago I wasn’t thinking we’d see the end of summer, and then we were just fighting a Ryngian Laureate and a legion of the undead.”
“Hearing you put it that way, Owen, does make it sound kind of ordinary.” Nathaniel scratched at the back of his neck. “This is a little bit different, I reckon.”
Ezekiel Fire poked a stick deep into the coals. “It’s the End of Days. It’s the Judgment time.”
Owen looked up from his journal. “It’s a bit premature to believe that, isn’t it?”
Kamiskwa shook his head. “The Shedashee would agree. We have stories, stories that have been forgotten, stories of which I have only heard a phrase or two. They talk of these things coming. I don’t know more, but what I do know frightens me. Just as the herds migrate north, imagine a grey mold working east, spreading over the mountains, down to the sea. Imagine Temperance being reduced like Piety.”
“Do these things have names among your people?”
“They do, but I do not know them. I do not know if anyone does.” Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed, reflecting a tiny sliver of firelight. “In magick, to know a name is to have power. As you address a letter to Prince Vlad, so a sorcerer can make a target of your name. Not the name that everyone knows, but your true name.”
“My true name?” Owen raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I have one.”
“You do, but you do not know it. This can be good because it means others cannot know you.” Kamiskwa shrugged. “It is bad because you cannot use it to make magick, strong magick. And, friend Makepeace, you shake your head, but among your people, do you not get a special name when you are confirmed in your faith?”
“I reckon that’s different.”
“No, it just means there is a second way to find you.”
Nathaniel shivered, seeing a grey mold spreading over Temperance, catching up those he loved. “Well, now, I reckon I’ll not be sleeping much after this discussion, so I’ll take the first watch. After two hours, I’ll wake the next man.”
Ezekiel raised a hand. “I will take a watch.”
“No need for that, Steward.” Nathaniel half-smiled. “But if you find yourself awake and want to send a prayer or two off for our benefit, I’d be much obliged.”
“God would be pleased to hear from you directly, Mr. Woods.”
“Might could be, Steward, but I think we’re much better off with you speaking for us.”
In the morning they repacked the wolfskins and continued their climb into the mountains. In two more days they reached the Antediluvian ruins. Not much had changed, save that a family of beavers had begun to dam up the outflow, so water had begun to fill the lowest spots. It didn’t appear as if anything had changed. The Temple doors still stood open and water lapped at the Temple steps, indicating that the dome which had kept the Temple dry had not reappeared.
“I don’t like the idea of going in there but…” Nathaniel shrugged. “We have to know, I reckon.”
Ezekiel Fire cocked his head. “Know what?”
“Steward, we entered the Temple after you and Rufus removed the tablets. We found evidence, near the Altar, that part of the floor might provide entry to subterranean chambers.” Owen started up the steps. “With Rufus having magicked his way under the ground to get away…”
>
“I understand. But given what we know, don’t you think this place could be a trap?”
Nathaniel, who had reached the top of the steps before the others, held up a hand to stop them. “I do believe that is a distinct possibility, Steward.”
There, in the distance, a bent golden tablet glittered from within the tabernacle.
“’Pears Rufus done got here before us, and don’t seem to mind our knowing it.”
Chapter Thirty
26 May 1767
Antediluvian Ruins
Westridge Mountains, Mystria
Owen took a quick look inside the Temple, then ducked back. “No doubt we’re being taunted.”
Nathaniel took a couple steps back and down. “I don’t know that I think that is true. Seems fair certain that the intention of getting the tablets took was to create havoc. Onliest reason to leave that one there would be to do more of the same. Rufus couldn’t be certain we’d come back this way. Heck, we’d not be but Prince Vlad said he’d backtrack us on this trail iffen we was not home quick enough.”
Kamiskwa let his pack slip from his shoulders. “You think the tablet is there so someone else will find it and fall prey to it as did Rufus?”
“Like as not. Could figure that we have one, the other would find it, and get us.” Nathaniel smiled. “Last Rufus knowed I couldn’t read. He prolly thinks this here trap could snare the Prince, which he wouldn’t mind at all.”
Owen nodded. “That being the case, to leave the tablet here would be more dangerous than getting trapped in there.”
Makepeace sighted down his rifle barrel, then thumbed a spec of dust off by the muzzle. “All your thinking don’t mean this ain’t a trap. More of them demons could spring up out the ground and you’re done.”
Nathaniel shucked off his pack and dug around, bringing out the urn full of demon broth. “Well, I gots me a plan. Being as how I is faster than any of the rest of you, I’ll just run in there, smash this over that slab goes into the ground, and be back with the tablet in no time.”
“If it doesn’t work, ‘I gots me a plan’ will make for one hell of an epitaph.”
“You have that wrong, Captain.” Kamiskwa came up with his urn. “If it doesn’t work, there won’t be enough to bury.”
“What are you proposing, brother?”
“I may not be faster than you, but I feel magick better. I make the run. You three stay here, ready to shoot anything that bothers me.”
“Cain’t argue as much as I’d like with your logic.” Nathaniel levered his rifle’s breech opened and pulled out the bullet. Using his knife, he cut a cross on the nose, then extended it toward the Steward. “I know you ain’t much on shooting and all, but I reckon a blessing might be of some comfort here.”
Ezekiel Fire laid his hand over Nathaniel’s. “Let Thy will be done.”
Owen similarly opened his rifle and got his bullet blessed, as did Makepeace. Owen saw no reddish glow, felt nothing, but also didn’t feel wholly hypocritical about asking for the blessing. What he had seen in Happy Valley and Piety had opened whole new windows in his world. He’d always known magick existed, and knew he could wield it at a strong level, but his abilities were nothing compared to what he’d seen Deacon Stone do, much less Rufus. In the face of that which he didn’t understand, asking for divine help didn’t seem to be a vice.
He loaded the bullet back into his rifle, then lay down on the stairs and steadied the rifle on the top step. Nathaniel crouched on the top of the stairs, and Makepeace sank down beside Owen. The large man mumbled a short prayer.
Kamiskwa carried a steel tomahawk in his right hand and the urn in his left. He stepped to the doors, then slipped through. He walked casually for a few paces down the middle, glancing back to see if the doors were closing, then put his head down and sprinted toward the stone altar. His body eclipsed the golden tablet.
Owen kept his rifle trained on the spot to the right of the altar where the slab had lain. At the first hint of motion he was going to shoot. He prepared himself for a cloud of demons exploding up, or Rufus rising like a ghost from the grave. He rubbed his thumb over the firestone. Come on, come on.
Kamiskwa reached the tabernacle. He smashed the urn onto the floor slab, then grabbed the tablet. Something began to grind behind him, sounding like the low rumbling of an avalanche to those who waited outside. The Tabernacle began to slide backward slowly.
A shaggy grey creature clambered up from the depths, all elbows, shoulders, and a broad head with curled ram’s horns. At least, that’s what it appeared to be to Owen, in the brief glimpse he had of it. Then Nathaniel fired. Smoke billowed, choking the entrance. Something yelped from within, but without seeing a target, and knowing Kamiskwa was running straight toward them, Owen couldn’t shoot.
Then Kamiskwa dove out though the smoke, the tablet clutched firmly in his left hand. His body drew the smoke away, revealing a hazy glimpse of a creature at least ten feet tall. Then the Temple doors began to close, and Owen and Makepeace shot in unison. They couldn’t see if they’d hit the creature, but it would have been hard to miss. Yet before the smoke could clear, the doors clanged shut.
Fire grabbed Kamiskwa’s pack, and the others retreated, reloading as they went. They moved through the ruins cautiously, then headed down into Little Elephant Valley. They’d have been happy to get further from the ruins, but daylight faded and exhaustion replaced excitement. They found an easily defended spot and set up camp, knowing full well that if the creature from the Temple or any of the demons wanted to attack during the night, they were powerless to stop them. Still, they splashed a little of the demon broth around and set up a rotation of shifts for nightwatch.
Kamiskwa woke Owen in the middle of the night. “Your watch, Owen.”
“Thanks.” Owen pulled his moccasins on. “Mind if I ask you something?”
The Altashee nodded.
“You clearly do not like whatever exists up there in the ruins.”
Kamiskwa laughed. “You are too much a civilized man to say they scare me. They do. I have heard stories since I was a child. An adult may try to pretend those stories no longer have power, but they do. And they do terrify me.”
“Then why be the one to make the run?”
“Owen, you have learned much in your time here. You have learned things of my people, but there are some lessons you do not understand.” The warrior smiled. “Norillians and Ryngians all treat fear as if it is a shameful thing. It is not. Succumbing to it might be. But fear is just telling you that you face great danger. It tells you that you must take extreme caution. Those who ignore such warnings are foolhardy and die. Those who cannot see past them are cowards. But I am a warrior. If I do not honor fear, if I fail to face it with intelligence and courage, I am nothing.”
He looked back toward the high mountain peak. “Did I run from that thing as swiftly as I could? Yes, but I did not give in to terror. I showed it I was indeed the most fleet of us. If I was wrong, if it caught me, all I would have lost is a race. I would not have lost what it is to be a man.”
“Then it was the creature that yelped.”
“No, that was me.” The Altashee laughed. “If you have Nathaniel Magehawk pointing a rifle at you and shooting, you will yelp, too.”
“I would at that.” Owen patted him on the shoulder. “Sleep well.”
The night passed without any oddness. In the morning they scouted around for signs of anything that might be following them, but found nothing. Though they did not relax their guard as they moved further from the ruins, they saw no sign of pursuit. Were they not carrying the golden tablets and demon broth—not to mention claw marks and bites—they’d have had no evidence that anything out of the ordinary had taken place.
And then, at the end of the first week of June, they returned to Plentiful. As they’d gotten close they saw ample signs of the flood that had raced down the Snake River. Riverbanks had been undermined and trees had fallen. Large rocks stood in the channel hundred
s of yards from where they had been previously, or had been left high and dry on the flood plain thirty and forty yards from the river itself. Yet even these displays of the river’s titanic power did not prepare them for what they found at the settlement.
The flood had poured through the valley deep and fast. Owen imagined that Arise Faith and his people, if they had any warning at all, assumed they had angered God in some incredible way. They would have seen it as the Scriptural Deluge come again.
A tumble of trees and splintered logs lay strewn over the valley floor. Green fields had been washed away, along with most all the buildings. Three houses on the southwest hillside had been preserved, though the hillside had been nibbled away right up to the doorstep of the lowest. The only attempts at clean up, it appeared, had been half-hearted harvesting of firewood from the wooden tangle that had once been Plentiful.
They worked their way along the valley edge, approaching the houses in the open. They stood off and announced their presence.
A ragged group of people, heads hung in shame, slowly poured out of the buildings. Owen didn’t see Arise Faith among them. Half of them were children, two were old women, and the rest adults young enough to be unmarried and uncertain of what they should be doing.
Nathaniel immediately set down his pack and opened it. He pulled out a small bag of flour from Happy Valley. “Looks like you could be using this.”
One of the young men stepped forward. “We don’t want no charity nor no trouble.”
“Ain’t charity, boy, just common sense. I am plumb tired of carrying this weight. It would be a sin just to throw it away.” Nathaniel advanced a few steps, set the bag down, then retreated. “We would trouble you for word of friends who passed through—Count von Metternin and Hodge Dunsby. Prolly came through two-three weeks ago.”
One of the women came forward. “They did, and they were most generous. They said they would send help.”
Of Limited Loyalty: The Second Book of the Crown Colonies Page 24
