by Aaron Hodges
Romaine sighed, already regretting speaking up. “There are some who claim they’re giants,” he rumbled, “that they look like us, with human features, but standing as tall as the great redwoods of southern Calafe.”
Travis snorted, the excitement draining from him somewhat. “Seems unlikely. I’ve seen sketches of these ancient sites the Archivist is so interested in. Some of the tunnels could barely fit a human.”
“True.” Romaine smiled despite himself. “Though perhaps their magic allows them to change shape.”
The recruit nodded, and after a moment, Romaine continued.
“Others claim the Gods exist now only as spirits. That they retreated from the physical world after The Fall, in shame for what they had unleashed. More still claim they soar high above, up amongst the clouds, watching us even now.”
Travis glanced upwards at his words, as though they might even now catch a glimpse of the Divine. Then a sheepish smile appeared on his lips and his gaze returned to Romaine.
“Our priests say the same,” he replied.
“Who knows, lad?” Romaine waved a hand. “I haven’t seen them. Though…I find it hard to believe they’re watching. Not with the Tangata invading our lands, murdering…families, innocents.”
The smile slipped from Travis’s lips. “Maybe…maybe they fear using their magic again, lest they bring about another Fall?”
“Another few years like the last, and humanity will be doomed anyway.” Romaine shook his head. “The Flumeerens believe the Tangata are a test, to show whether we are worthy of the Gods’ return.” He forced himself to laugh. “Trust them to find something divine in the act of war.”
Travis said nothing at that, and he saw the man’s eyes had returned to the mountains. Romaine let out a sigh, unwilling to stomp any further on the man’s dreams. Let the Perfugian recruits pray for deliverance. It could hardly hurt.
“So,” he said, deciding at last to change the subject. “Has anything happened between you and Cara yet?”
“What!” Travis exclaimed, head swinging around so fast it must have given him whiplash.
Romaine chuckled but did not elaborate further.
“I…what…” he trailed off, his cheeks growing bright. A sheepish look crossed his face. “No. Ah…who else knows?”
“Relax,” Romaine replied, still grinning. “I don’t think anyone else has guessed. Too busy worry about the Tangata, no doubt.”
Travis nodded, though he still seemed worried. Finally he stood and began to pace up and down in front of the building.
“That’s it isn’t it?” he said at last. “We have bigger things to worry about. I shouldn’t be getting distracted by…things!”
Romaine suppressed another bout of laughter. “Ah lad, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
Travis scowled. “I didn’t see a Calafe wife back in Fogmore.”
Ice gripped Romaine’s chest at his words and he sucked in a breath, struggling to control a rush of rage. Exhaling slowly, he forced aside the pain.
“That’s…personal,” he said softly.
Travis looked up sharply and his eyes widened at the sight of Romaine’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Romaine spoke over the top of him:
“Look lad, it’s never the right time, okay?”
The recruit hesitated, but after a long moment, he nodded. Silence fell between them once more, and Romaine leaned back against the stone wall of the cottage, eyes on the sky. The clouds were growing darker. It would start to snow soon, and with night approaching, he hoped Lukys and the others were close.
As though summoned by the thought, the distant whinny of a horse carried to them on the breeze. Letting out a long sigh, Romaine levered himself to his feet and glanced down at Travis.
“Coming?”
Travis started as though he’d been caught unawares. A frown twisted his lips as he glanced at the trees, and his shoulders slumped.
“It’s just…I failed, you know?” he murmured, slowly coming to his feet. “At literally everything.”
“Forget the past, lad,” Romaine sighed. “We’ve all failed at…something. That’s no bad thing—so long as you learn from it. And from where I sit, you’ve done well these last weeks.”
“If you say so…” Travis trailed off, then laughed. “Ah well, she probably wouldn’t go for a city boy like me anyway.”
“You’ll never know unless you ask,” Romaine replied, stepping past the man. “Now come on, they’ll be tired from the trek.”
He started down the slope towards the path they’d taken. Already movement was visible amongst the trees. Stones crunched a moment later as Travis followed. A smile touched his lips. The man had a good heart—
Romaine stumbled as realisation struck him; he suddenly knew what was off, the edge he’d felt ever since crossing the Illmoor. It wasn’t something that had changed in Calafe at all.
It was him.
Always before when he’d come on these scouting trips, it had been with Flumeeren soldiers. Strangers. He didn’t care whether they lived or died.
“Godsdamnit,” he whispered to the winds.
This time, he cared.
22
The Recruit
Lukys marched at the head of the column for much of their first day. Cara walked at his side, helping to pick out the marks Romaine and Travis had made for them to follow, though she said little. Returning to Calafe seemed to have left her lost for words. Lukys didn’t press her—after all, how would he react in her situation? He could hardly imagine Perfugia falling, let alone returning after his land had been claimed by the enemy.
Unfortunately, the conversation was little better with the one who came behind them. So far, the Archivist had shown little interest in anyone but Romaine and, briefly, Cara. As for the rest of them…Lukys had spent enough time around the noble born in Perfugia to sense when someone thought herself above him.
As the day stretched on, the silence began to weigh on Lukys. Occasionally, he wandered back down the line of recruits, checking on their progress. Speaking with the others at least helped to dissolve some of the burden that grew in those silent hours.
It seemed to help the other Perfugians too. Despite their brave words the day before, many marched with their heads down, while others stared at the trees to either side of the thin trail, open fear on their faces. When he addressed them, they would look at him in fright, as though he were announcing the Tangata were upon them. Then their eyes would show recognition and their shoulders would relax, and they would nod and comment about the snow or their boots or the blasted Archivist sitting on her horse.
Lukys did his best to encourage them, though at times he felt it was more for himself than the others. In Romaine’s absence and the Archivist’s lack of interest in anyone but herself, he felt almost responsible for his fellow Perfugians. There was a voice in his head, whispering that he should have done more back in Fogmore, should have convinced them all to train together.
At midday he called a stop. That was probably the Archivist’s responsibility, but she didn’t seem interested, and several of the recruits looked close to dropping on their feet. Groans whispered through the trees as men and women lowered themselves to the ground and took out packages of food.
It disheartened Lukys to see their exhaustion. Despite the snow, the trek had been easy compared to their overland hike through Flumeer. The ground had climbed gently so far from the river, but from the path Romaine had outlined before setting out, soon they would start into the foothills. How would his fellow Perfugians manage that climb if they struggled on the flat?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before the Archivist grew impatient and they were forced to continue. With their late departure, Erika was eager to press on and recover lost time. Never mind that she rode a horse while the rest of them walked.
They set off with Lukys still in the lead, Cara and the Archivist close behind. It wasn’t long, though, before Lukys dropped back again, standing to the side while
the others continued. Cara lingered though, amber eyes watching him.
“You worry for them,” she murmured.
Lukys shrugged. “Maybe.” They started walking again.
Cara frowned. “They’re not your responsibility.”
“No,” Lukys sighed. “Maybe I’m not doing it for them though.”
The woman’s frown only deepened at that and Lukys continued before she could speak, “Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself of something.”
“Convince yourself of what?”
“I’m not sure,” Lukys replied, then grinned. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Go on, I’m going to talk with some of the others.”
He waved her on and turned to wait for the rest of the column. Cara lingered, but after a moment she nodded and hurried to catch up with the Archivist.
“Bradbury, how’s your legs?” Lukys commented as he fell into step with another of the recruits.
It was a moment before his new companion responded. “What?”
Lukys forced a smile and tried again. “Your legs, man! How are they?” he said, adopting a false bravado. “Mine feel as though they’re about to fall off.”
Bradbury stared at Lukys for a long moment, then returned his eyes to the road. “They’re fine.”
A sigh escaped Lukys’s lips. Clearly this wasn’t working. He needed to jerk the recruits out this stupor that had come over them since entering Calafe.
“Shame we can’t just give up, hey?” he continued. “Seems as nice a place as any to set camp, but what do I know. Good thing we’ve got Romaine, he’ll know the best place to stop. This forest is probably infested with wolves or something!”
“Wolves!” Bradbury gasped. Eyes wide, he glanced around, as though the beasts might be creeping up on him at that very moment. “There are wolves in this forest?”
“Ahhhh.” Lukys cursed inwardly at the fear in the man’s face. “Maybe, but don’t worry, don’t you remember biology class? Wolves don’t bother humans.”
“That’s not what the old tales say!”
“The old tales say a lot of things.” Lukys slapped the man on the back. “Remember that one claiming the Calafe are part Tangata? Well, you’ve met Romaine, right? Does he look like one of those beasts to you?”
“I…no…” The recruit trailed off, before adding, “Though he is ferocious.”
Lukys forced a laugh. “And he’s on our side,” he said. “Something to be thankful for, right? And look, the trees are beginning to thin, you can even see the mountains! I’m sure it won’t be long before we catch up with Travis and the old Calafe.”
With that he gave Bradbury a final nod and strode back up the line. Approaching the front of the column, he saw the Archivist had dismounted and was taking a turn at walking. Even more surprising, Cara sat on her horse, a large piece of paper held out before her.
“You see the red star?” Erika was saying.
“Where did you get this?” Cara murmured, eyes wide as she stared at the unfurled paper.
“One of the ancient sites,” the Archivist replied. “Do you recognise the area?” Her voice took on an excited tone.
Drawing closer, Lukys saw that the paper Cara held was in fact a map. His heartbeat quickened as he realized this must be the relic the Archivist had discovered, the one directing them to the undiscovered site of the Gods. Lukys still loathed the thought of stepping foot in those ancient tunnels, of desecrating what had once been a sacred place of the Gods…
Sacred, secret, death.
…a shiver ran down Lukys’s spine. The Archivist said that reclaiming the magic of the Gods was the only way to save humanity…but Lukys hadn’t missed the glint in the woman’s eyes when she spoke of that magic. She wanted more than just protection; she wanted power. His gaze was drawn to the gauntlet on her hand and he swallowed. Rumours had swirled amongst the recruits as to what it was, but Lukys knew. Romaine had told him.
It was another artefact, one with true magic. A weapon.
“It is…close to my home,” Cara said hesitantly. “Though…I do not know the terrain well.”
At least Cara was talking again. She seemed fascinated by the Archivist, though Lukys couldn’t see why. Perhaps it was the novelty of meeting a Flumeeren aristocrat, or the woman’s study of the Gods. Either way, the interest had not seemed to be reciprocated until now.
“May I see?” Lukys asked as he joined Cara on the other side of the horse from the Archivist.
“Why?” Erika asked sharply. She grasped the reins, as though suddenly fearing Cara would flee.
Lukys raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know the terrain. It would be good to know what to expect if we’re to protect you, Archivist.”
The woman stared at him across the horse, as though if she looked long enough, she might read his mind. Finally, she shrugged and gestured her permission.
“Careful,” Cara murmured. Dismounting, she handed it over to him. “It’s…old.”
“No kidding,” Lukys replied as he took it from her hands.
He unfurled the map as he walked, taking care to keep one eye on the uneven ground. It surprised him to see that colours filled the paper, greens and browns and blues and whites and many more. A quick glance suggested what he held was more painting than map. Certainly it was nothing like the charts back in the academy. Those were all black lines and empty spaces on yellowed pages.
As he inspected the mixtures of colours, landmarks started to leap at him from the page. There, a large mass of green and white set apart from the rest, surrounded by blue. He could not read the names on the map, but it had to be Perfugia. He followed the coastline south, amazed at the detail the ancients had captured, until he found a great river. Its position had shifted, but it could only be the Illmoor. Further inland and to the south, he found the red star the Archivist had mentioned.
“This is where we’re going?” he asked.
Stepping back into the saddle of her horse, the Archivist ignored him, but Cara leaned closer.
“Yes, I…think it is a part of the foothills.” She frowned, brow furrowing. “That dark green, I think that means it was forest, but there are no trees there now.”
“I see,” Lukys murmured, his eyes continuing. “Then these here must be the Mountains of the Gods?”
“I…” Cara hesitated, glancing at Lukys then up at the Archivist. Swallowing, she nodded. “I think so.”
“Yes, it has to be,” he continued excitedly, pointing to white and grey blotches on the paper. “You see these lines? They circle around the white spots—those must be the peaks. The closer they come together, the steeper the slope. They’re called—”
“Contours,” the Archivist interrupted from her horse.
Lukys glanced at her. “We learnt about them at the Perfugian academy. But…” He hesitated, glancing back at the map. “I’ve never seen any so detailed.” Then he frowned, noticing something else. There was another red star. “And this…there’s another site, in the Mountains of the Gods themselves.”
No, no, no!
On her horse, Erika chuckled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Perfugian.”
“I…but…” He swallowed. “If this is truly a map of their sacred sites, you realise…”
“No!” Cara exclaimed unexpectedly. Before he could react, she snatched the map from his hands.
“Careful,” Erika hissed, swinging her horse in front of them. “The boy is right, that star could be the home of the Gods themselves!” She dropped from the saddle and almost stumbled. Cursing, she caught Cara by the arm. “Gods, woman, I did not think the Calafe so superstitious.”
A tremor shook Cara as she clutched the map to her jacket. Even Lukys found himself shaking. If what the Archivist suspected was true…Gods, surely that was blasphemous knowledge? To know where the Gods themselves lived…
“But it’s forbidden!” Cara whispered.
“Definitely not a good idea,” Lukys said at the same time.
“Oh, cal
m down,” Erika said, rolling her eyes. “We’re not actually going there. The queen has prohibited even speaking of it.” She paused, then muttered another curse. “I should have known better than to show you the map. Quick, give it back.” Lips pursed, she held out her hand to Cara.
The woman bit her lip, glancing to Lukys then back to the Archivist. Finally she nodded and handed over the map. Erika rolled it back up and slid it into a metal cylinder before placing it in her knapsack. A grin touched her lips as she looked at them again.
“Our superstitions never cease to amaze me,” she murmured. “Don’t you see? The Gods left this for us to find. It is an invitation. They want us to come to them.” As she spoke, she lifted her gauntleted hand and clenched it into a fist. “Though of course, only the worthy will be welcomed.”
A faint light seeped from the woven steel.
It turned Lukys’s insides to ice.
23
The Warrior
Romaine groaned as he lowered himself onto the wall at the edge of the village and watched the recruits going about organising their camp—although there wasn’t much organisation to be seen. A watch had been set to keep eyes on the forest, but otherwise the Perfugians were doing a poor job of dividing up the eight habitable cottages between them.
Given that the general had put him in charge, Romaine probably should have taken more responsibility, but his mind was occupied. On other scouting trips, he had rarely gone a day without glimpsing signs of the Tangata. That was why they’d spent so little time this side of the Illmoor. So far though, there hadn’t been a whisper, not even a boot print in the snow.
After the attack on Fogmore, he’d half expected these forests to be crawling with Tangata. Yet now they found northern Calafe empty. The enemy’s tactics often seemed incomprehensible, but this was stranger still. The assault, though made up of at least a dozen Tangata, had never stood a chance of taking the city. Curtis had assumed it had been a precursor, a probe before a greater force attempted the crossing.
