“What are we here for?” I said, still fearing that a public execution would be part of the entertainment.
“We’re on display,” Reldion said. “It’s a form of humiliation for us and a show of accomplishment for Shaldom.”
“But he didn’t capture us.”
“That doesn’t matter. Those scouts that attacked us serve him. They are his ‘hands,’ and so the deed is his.”
It must be Wagoner logic.
Reldion’s description of the gathering proved accurate. Before every song, dance, and diversion, Shaldom barked out an announcement of what it would be. Reldion’s and my position beside his wagon put us in prime earshot for all his blustering. Shaldom himself sat on the top step of his wagon, while the other Wilders sat on the ground, some atop blankets or stones.
Before ‘giving us’ the final entertainment, Shaldom made a speech about his rise to power ten years before. I had expected a sanitized narrative like a politician’s, but King Tub didn’t leave anything out: how he murdered the previous leader; his many excesses; how he ruled by terror and would do so until he passed on the position to his heirs. I guess the fear angle worked for him. King Tub didn’t seem to mind that no one applauded. Even at the end, the Wilders seemed too afraid to move or speak.
“And now, my family,” King Tub declared, his words slurred from too much wine. “The Chosen People of Mersania.”
Mersania! I wondered if the Wilders told the tragedy I had heard at Fiona’s homecoming, too.
Wilder men and women with various instruments took positions around the fire. One, a slender man with a sharp chin and a beard cut to a sharper point, came forward and bowed. “Brothers and sisters,” he said in measured, musical tones. “I present you the ‘The Chosen People of Mersania.’”
“Brothers and sisters,” came a growly whisper behind me. “I present you the ‘The Chosen People of Mersania.’” Unsure what the echo was, and not daring to turn around or do anything conspicuous that might interrupt the story, I continued to listen.
“Somber Mersania, born with the First People’s white Hair and eyes of silver. The last survivor of the First People, orphaned and forced to flee the only home she’d ever known.”
“Sad Mersania, last of the First People, orphaned and forced to run away from home.” Now I realized Reldion was translating for me. How unusually considerate of him. But…I didn’t need it. In fact, I barely needed to pay attention to understand the Wilders. It was as though they were speaking perfect American English.
“White-haired wanderer with eyes of silver. She roamed among the rocks, the snowfields, struggling, starving, tragic vagabond who’d once been more exalted than any queen.” The singer’s voice was the gentle croon of a folk singer, rain pattering on a rooftop or a stream trickling past a stone, wearing it smooth. I was nearly lost in the spell of his voice when Reldion whispered his interpretation.
“Tramp with old woman hair and gray eyes. She got lost in the rocks, the snowfields, struggling, hungry. Oh woe was her; her life was once so great,” Reldion said.
I covered my mouth with my hand, tried to look bored or in thought. I hadn’t realized until now how shaky Reldion’s command of the Wilders’ language was.
“At last Mersania reached the forest, poor waif, and contented herself to die under the trees. They comforted her, reminding her of the gardens in the Milandeir, the Last City.”
“At last Mersania reached the forest, skinny and sick. She…she…looked forward to dying. The trees reminded her of the gardens in…what the hell is Milandeir?”
I really wished Reldion would stop helping. Apart from his sometimes comical inaccuracy, as the concepts became more complex, Reldion’s faltering translations were running into the singers’ next lines. At last I succeeded in mentally blocking him out.
“But she did not die, Mersania of the First People. A family of Wilders, their surname Samarin, happened by where she lay. At first they thought she was an elder, one of their people. But when they came to her side, they saw her fine-cut clothing of rich fabric, her smooth, unlined face, her small child’s hands. They fed and sheltered her many days, but she would not speak to them. Although Mersania had been found, her eyes remained distant, the soul behind those mirrors lost in the mists of grief. The Wilders waited, brought her with them where they roamed, their voiceless, pale doll.
“At last, in the spring, Mersania broke her long silence. She told them her family had been killed, but not who they’d been or where. As spring gave way to summer, Mersania spoke more. Her face, ever-pale from long imprisonment in marble halls, took on color from the sun. Her bones, once so prominent, disappeared. At times, she appeared as a normal child, rather than a waif. It seemed at first, the Wilders would adopt her into their Family, to be the child of their generosity. But Mersania was too great for that. Too great even to be their queen.
“Why us, Mersania?” the Samarin people often asked. “Why did you choose us, when you might go anywhere in the world?”
“You are wanderers and outcasts, as I am,” she answered each time. “We have an understanding.”
“Autumn came with early frost and snow as stinging as remembered grief. Many Wilders were buried in what was usually a season of plenty. The animals of the forest suffered as well, and preyed upon one another. Undoubtedly, it was these conditions that brought the dragons, sinuous black snakes that struck from the heavens at the Wilders’ camp. While the others cowered, fled, Mersania walked out alone to meet the foe. Winter wind and dragon storm buffeted her slight frame, but she neither flinched, nor backed down. Their battle raged for three days and nights, and in the end, Mersania subdued the dragons. That winter she tamed them, trained them to fetch food for the Samarin Family.
“When spring came again, Mersania left with her dragons to see the world that had taken her people from her. Before she departed, Mersania also gave the Samarin Family gifts, including the ability to communicate with animals through mind and physical signs. Had she been exalted as a goddess, the great trees and mighty peaks of Edonai would be angry. So the people hailed her as their savior.”
“I have never heard this story of Mersania,” Reldion whispered to me. “All the Wagoner families I know of end her saga with the tragedy that has her walking. I wonder if the Wilders made it up. Every group of outcasts needs to feel chosen in some way.”
They were able to understand the animals in ways no one else in the Other World could, I thought.
“Over the years,” the singer continued, “the Samarin family grew and prospered. A single Family became many, all following the ancient laws of our people. Over the generations, Mersania could always be counted on to save the people, just when it seemed times of battle or famine had stolen away our hope.”
The singer was recounting other occasions Mersania had saved the Wilders when Reldion whispered, “I still have my knife. Draw close to this cage when I tell you, and I will cut your ropes.”
Hope thrilled in me like a bird that sees its cage door is ajar. “How will you get out?”
“I’ll find a way,” Reldion said vaguely.
“I can’t leave you, Reldion! We’re in this together! And I don’t know how I’ll find find the dragon’s cave without you.”
“I’m flattered that you think so highly of me. But you are more capable than you believe. This I know, as sure as my name is Reldion le Valen.”
All around us, the Wilders applauded, cheered, and shook tambourines. The storytellers bowed in all directions.
Meanwhile, King Tub descended from on high to kneel beside me and admire a hunk of my hair in the firelight. “Gold hair. Soon you warm my bed,” King Tub said in English, with a lecherous laugh and crude gesture. He waddled away to join the Wilders, who were now dancing in a circle around the bonfire.
“On second thought,” I whispered to Reldion when we were alone again. “Tell me when.”
Chapter Nineteen
On my Own
“These celebrations u
sually end with fireworks. When the first ones go off, stand with your back to the cage. I will reach through and cut the ropes around your hands. Then you can free your legs,” Reldion said.
I hoped he was more accurate on this cultural point than he was on his translations.
I got my answer barely a minute later. The fire vanished as quickly as if a giant had snuffed it out, and the first fireworks exploded out of it in star bursts of green, red, and blue.
Gagging on the putrid smoke, I struggled to my feet. Blue flowers studded with silver formed out of the circle of stones. I fell back against the bars of Reldion’s cage. Icy steel brushed my wrist. I flinched, remembering getting my bangs cut with kitchen scissors as a little girl. In response, Reldion enclosed my wrist in his powerful grip. Now I couldn’t get away if I wanted. The force of his cutting moved my body back and forth; these must be some killer strong ropes!
In the quiet space between crackle, sizzle, boom, and bang, I heard the heavy rope fall. Though I gazed around in wide-eyed terror, the Wilders remained transfixed by the fireworks.
Using the intermittent flashes of light to see, I sat back down to work on freeing my legs.
The rough ropes were much thicker than I’d thought. Maybe they’d been used for pulling wagons if they got stuck. I jerked and pulled and tugged, but the hard knots held fast. I wondered if I would have done better with Reldion’s knife. Finally when I started using my legs to help me, I managed to get one free. It wasn’t exactly a clean break, but I was no Houdini and had more important things to worry about.
Disoriented in the unlit camp, I slipped away from the fire and crept through the maze of whimsical painted houses on wheels, the faded colors and weathered forms softened in the fireworks’ illumination. As much as possible, I kept to one direction. I had to reach the edge at some point! And when the sun rose, I could be certain I was truly free of the Wilders. There was always the possibility that one of the forest animals would tattle on me, but…I couldn’t think of that now, not when I was this close! And speaking of animals, this area smelled somewhat similar to the sad zoo where they’d first brought me. I wondered if I’d managed to make my way back there.
A horse’s neigh almost made me shriek. I drew in my breath, then clapped both hands over my mouth. My heart beat in my ears so loudly I couldn’t hear anything around me. I counted to ten, then to thirty. Nothing happened. A horse, maybe the same one, blew through its nostrils.
I needed light. My stumbling search of the area by feel brought me to a stash of bags. By their leather material and shape, I guessed they were saddlebags. This was so lucky!
I test-lifted the bags, wanting as many provisions as I could carry while still feeling confident I could walk a good distance from the Wilder camp. Finally I chose one and pawed through the others for tinder, flint, and torches made from oily rags and wood. Supplied to my satisfaction, I continued in the direction I’d been traveling. (I’d made careful note of this before exploring the area. I hadn’t gone to all this trouble to end up back by the bonfire.)
Second thoughts came to me as I was leaving the area. I could get away much faster and have better odds of finding the dragon cave on horseback. But…that would be really risky. I still couldn’t mount up on my own.
That was just what I needed: to fall from the horse in the dark and have King Tub nurse me back to health. No, no horses for me.
Wagons gave way to trees. I didn’t wait long to light my torch. I still remembered my fall into the ravine with Faxon in the Latule woods, and Edonai’s terrain was much steeper. I followed the forest’s twists and turns, rises and dips until my legs could take no more. I settled down in the lap of a tree with sprawling, ancient roots and pillowed my head on the saddlebag. Hopefully Reldion would meet up with me soon.
Sunrise took its time during the Other World winters. The farther north Reldion and I had traveled, the longer the nights lasted. And Edonai blocked most of the sunshine with its thick canopy of leaves and twisted branches. I woke disoriented, both about time and where I was.
“Reldion,” I croaked, sitting up and feebly rubbing at the knot in my shoulder blades. Squinting, I looked around. No remnants of a fire, and no Reldion teasing me about how much I slept and how I’d make a fine meal for a hungry woodland beast, probably never waking for the whole ordeal.
Beasts! The Wilder’s comment about King Tub’s pet bear in Reldion’s cage zapped through my mind. How had the flame-haired man fared, I wondered. I hoped he was alright. He’d need some time to find me, I reassured myself before I started worrying. I’d probably traveled a long way from the camp yesterday.
To distract myself, I decided to go through the saddlebag I’d taken with me. I imagined Reldion gloating about how he’d corrupted me, turning me to thievery. Mentally I stuck my tongue out at him.
Inside, I found: rags in faded hues; a water skin; a knife; rope; a small metal hook; gloves; small balls like marbles that reminded me of the “stink bombs” the little boys had played with in elementary school; and paper envelopes containing unknown powders. These would be useful to the wandering Wilder or Wagoner, I was sure, but I didn’t dare use them, not knowing what they were. The food, far less than I’d hoped for, consisted of dried strips of meat and flavorless, leathery fruit.
I still had the knowledge Reldion had given me in the snowfields, I told myself, miraculously staving off panic that way. I could find my own food if need be.
After I’d eaten and repacked, Reldion still hadn’t turned up.
Figuring there was no sense in wasting time, I traveled a short distance from where I had camped until I found a break in the trees that allowed me to see the sky. I cleared some of the snow away to the questionable improvement of mucky ground underneath, and sat down to wait for dragons in the sky and Reldion.
Shadowy day passed into dusk, then darkest night, with no sign of either. I tried to stave off the lump in my throat by finding the best way to chew the saddlebag meat. The object was to successfully break down the meat without hurting my teeth. Eventually I did give up and cried. This was much worse than being lost in Union Station. At least we had cellphones and security guards around to help. Out here, I was completely on my own, and two people I cared about (yes, I did care about Reldion, in an odd way) were in trouble, and I was powerless to help them. If I thought it through, everyone in this world I had come to care about was in danger.
I might have remained lost in my bleak thoughts the entire night if not for the ethereal light that filled the area. Glancing around, I followed it to the break in the trees, then skyward to… “Zellia,” I breathed. I smiled. Zellia wasn’t a flesh and blood person, but I’d seen her so often on this journey, I felt as though she were a friend. Too much more time alone, and I would start talking to her, and to myself by day, just like Reldion.
But, what was this? Zellia seemed to have moved. Usually she occupied the sky straight ahead from Reldion and me, but now she was off to the side. I thought about it for a minute, concluding that my flight from the Wilders camp, to say nothing of getting there, had altered my direction. I took a few minutes to turn my camp to face north. That was better. In the morning, I could continue northward and hunt for dragons. It was doubly lucky I hadn’t gone too far in the hopes of finding Reldion.
I slept well that night. Something about Zellia’s light made me feel protected, much like the nightlight I’d had as a kid.
I’m sure it helped that seeing the star made me remember Fiona’s technique of building a small fire and using elements to keep warm during the night. For a change, I executed the magic without destroying anything (too much).
In the morning, I set off in the direction I’d seen Zellia the night before. I felt downright adventurous, with the saddlebags slung over my shoulder, handfuls of dry fruit in my pockets, a stick of dried meat in hand to be chewed while walking.
By the afternoon, I had to stop. For all the work it took to chew them, the Wilders’ meat and fruit left me hungry, and n
avigating Edonai on foot took what little energy I had. I’d moved slowly, looking everywhere for streams, edible berries, roots, and plants, but the main thing I longed for was water, after that dry meat and fruit.
As I sat catching my breath and trying to recover my sense of purpose, I had an inspiration. There were no streams around, but what about all this snow? There was probably like zero air pollution in the Other World. I scooped up a handful and hesitated with the icy mass right before my lips. It was silly, I knew. If I’d encountered a stream, I would’ve dunked my whole face, though I knew from survival shows that it was better to scoop from the top.
I brought the snow near my mouth again. Here goes nothing, I thought. I didn’t swallow right away, relying on my tongue as a last defense to tell me this was a huge mistake. I had to admit, it tasted better than Orange County tap water. Several handfuls later, I don’t know if I slaked my thirst, but my mouth and throat were too numb to feel dry.
By the time I felt ready to move on, night had fallen. With Zellia’s help, I corrected my direction and considered my plan for the next day.
In the morning, I sorted through my provisions again. To my dismay, I had cleared out half of the food already. I wasn’t going to last at this rate. Trying to hunt would just waste energy. What could I do? When no answer came to me, I began walking north again, still thinking.
Even if I found food I could gather, it wouldn’t be much. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed a proper meal: some meat, or better yet, some bread from the Valeriya ovens. I fantasized about that for a while.
Eventually I came upon a clearing, the first I’d seen in Edonai. A stream, swift and singing echoes of my joy and relief, cut down the center. I knelt on the bank and shoveled handfuls of cool, clear water into my mouth until I couldn’t feel my lips and cheeks. A shiver ran through my body, of cold and pleasure. Exploring the stream’s path, I discovered watercress and roots, which I gobbled as I found them.
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