Conflict (Crossover Series)

by Socha, Walt

  Joe shifted his eyes from the map to the clearing along the Susquehanna. “I get you. Maybe put in some shooting blinds or barriers in the middle?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get with Brent. Not like we ain’t got plenty of wood.”

  Joe folded and replaced the map in his pocket. “A killing field,” he said in a flat voice as he stared at his friend.

  Larry’s face clouded. “Until we run out of ammo.” “At short range, the Ruger is deadly.” Joe watched his friend’s face. “And we still have over 900 rounds for it.”

  Larry closed his eyes, breathing deep. “Okay, how about we put Brent with the Ruger in the middle. The revolver and rifle on either side, backed by bows. Me and you?”

  “Better you on Mojo. Full armor. Up and down the riverside trails.”

  Larry paused, eyes distant. “Yeah, they’ll try to flank us.” His eyes shifted back to the present. “What of Brent’s flintlock?”

  “Good for one shot in a fight. Won’t be time to reload.” Joe gazed at the ground around the tower. “Maybe leave it here for whoever is on watch? Fill it with shot?”

  “Yeah. Anyone hitting the tower won’t know it takes time to reload,” Larry said. “And maybe on the tower, there’ll be time?”

  Joe looked back at the canoes disappearing behind Bird Island. Another canoe appeared from downriver. That made nine canoes if their count was correct. And those were just the ones that they had seen. What could their few guns do against a mass attack? His eyes unfocused. Tork knew the effectiveness of their guns. Could he be fooled?

  Chapter 55. Day 199 - September 21

  Samatu stumbled, grabbing a tree branch to stay upright. He had to keep moving. He leaned against the tree and dropped the two heavy leather bags and his sleeping fur. His thigh throbbed as he bent his left leg to lower himself against the tree. He had walked a long distance in the Great River to escape detection by Tork’s scouts, but stumbling along the broken river bottom had aggravated his healing leg—that impossible wound that the Sky Goddess had healed even though he was their enemy.

  He gritted his teeth against pain that had nothing to do with his leg.

  He leaned back, his heated body relieved by the moist bark. Beads of sweat cooled his burning face. Memories flashed through his head: Nika hanging by her wrists at the sacrificial pole, his father laughing as he held the long lightning weapon, her head jerking back, exploding into a spray of blood, flesh, and bone.

  His jaw clenched as the image of Nika transformed into an unnamed slave at the end of the long weapon during his Skullman ceremony.

  In spite of a churning stomach, he forced himself to chew a strip of jerky. He must maintain his strength. He must return the bags.

  ><><

  Kristi stopped to catch her breath when she reached the river path. Tanuhu stood at the top of the trail that led down to the Susquehanna. Across his chest, he held his branch, carved to resemble a rifle, painted with mud and ochre. He pointed to the small canoe holding a position about 200 yards out.

  She glanced up at the tower; two flags still fluttered in the light breeze. Two flags meant warning. Two drumbeats signaled those not in sight of the tower.

  She slipped her own dummy rifle off her back and, holding it prominently in front of her, jogged down to the river’s edge and looked out over the water. A single canoe with a single paddler held position mid-stream.

  “White clay markings.”

  Kristi jerked at the sound of Potts’s voice. He probably had been working one of the nearby vegetable plots along the path. Now he stood beside her, peering through a pair of binoculars. Zoey sat at his side, ears cocked toward the sound of paddling.

  “May I?” Kristi shifted position to stand closer to Potts, slipping her painted stick over a shoulder by its strap.

  He handed her the binoculars.

  Kristi adjusted the focus, and then gasped as she recognized the man paddling midstream. White clay covered his face, leaving holes around his eyes and mouth, creating the image of a grinning skull. He had held her as Tork raped her. Then he had taken his turn. “He’s Tork’s right hand man.” She fought down a wave of nausea and white-hot rage. Felt Potts’s hand on her shoulders.

  The sound of hoof beats registered through the turmoil of her emotions. “What’s he want?” Larry asked. “Not sure. He’s just holding his position.” Potts sounded thoughtful. “But maybe he wants to talk.” “I’d rather kill him,” Kristi said in a hoarse voice. “Maybe talk first?”

  Another horse rode up. “He’s just about in rifle range,” Brent said.

  Guilt stabbed her, chilling her rage. If she hadn’t gone off with Levanu, all of his wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Tork would have ignored them.

  No. He would not have ignored them. Levanu would be alive, but Tork would still be here. Kristi breathed deep, her anger now cold and focused. “That’s Nist. I think he’s Tork’s second in command.” She turned back toward the river, her expression carefully neutral. The canoe still held its position, maybe 200 yards out.

  “He’s pointing upstream.” Potts waded out into the water, looking upstream. “To Gravel Island?” He pointed to the low collection of sand and gravel halfway between the western end of the much larger Bird Island and Haven’s side of the river. Other than scattered clumps of driftwood at the upper end, no features marred the flat surface. “Now’s he’s paddling.”

  “I’ll ride up there.” Larry mounted his horse.

  “I’m with you.” Brent pulled Haven’s remaining rifle out its sheath, checked it and slid it back in place. “Potts, you armed?”

  “The bow’s stashed by the garden along with my carved stick.”

  “Best get both.”

  Larry and Brent rode up the shallow bank and turned left onto the river trail.

  Kristi walked to the water’s edge as Potts and Zoey headed toward the garden. A mile upstream, the canoe beached on the far side of Gravel Island. Nist got out. He wore only a loincloth and carried no visible weapons. He walked about fifty yards away from his canoe to the middle of the island, and stood watching Haven’s side of the river.

  In a few minutes a swimming figure came into Kristi’s view. Dark skin identified Larry. Wearing only his briefs, he slogged out of the shallow water from Haven’s side of the river.

  She turned at the sound of footfalls. Alita joined her and grabbed her hand, the whites of her eyes showing. Behind them, Potts now stood with his false rifle in his hands, bow and quiver over his shoulder. Further inland, Joe came into view riding Snark. He halted, looking upstream along the trail and then to Kristi.

  She waved him upstream and watched him nudge Snark into a gallop, arm waving his wooden rifle in the air.

  “I’m worried, too,” Kristi said to her young friend.

  One the island, Larry faced Nist, both men gesturing with flailing arms. After several minutes of talk, the two men parted, the Skullman walked back to his canoe while Larry reentered the water and started swimming.

  “If they’re talking, they’re not fighting.” Kristi put her arm around the young woman’s shoulders.

  ><><

  Joe held Larry’s clothes as his friend trudged onto the shore.

  “Tork wants us to surrender.” Larry said in a low voice, as he shook himself and grabbed his clothes. “He says he’ll let us go if we give him the guns and horses.” Every muscle in his body was tense.

  Joe waded into the river as Larry dressed. Beyond Gravel Island, the tree-covered Bird Island blocked the sight of Tork’s main forces. Downstream, two diminutive figures waved their dummy rifles. He waved his own back, pointed in the direction of the tower, and slogged back to shore.

  “Now what?” Larry said, mounting Mojo. Behind him, Brent sat on Flicker.

  “Let’s assemble up at the tower. Where we can see if this is a diversion. Nikaku’s there now.”

  Larry nodded and rode up the shallow bank, followed by Brent.

  Joe mounted Snark and followed his friends. A sense
of deep hollowness crept into his core at Tork’s message. End game?

  At the top of the bank, Joe turned to follow his friends along the riverside trail. As they approached the clearing at the mouth of Snake Creek, the trail widened. Although rough with stumps and broken brush, it provided quick movement along the river. Along the river side of the trail, the downed trees pointed their tops like spikes toward the water, their interlocking branches impeding any easy access from that direction.

  The trail broke out into the west end of the clearing, an area about a hundred yards deep by two hundred yards long, cut by Snake Creek into two unequal parts. The smaller western area had most of the access to the river shoreline as well as the smaller trail that ran along the Snake to Haven. Their vegetable fields filled the larger, eastern side, which narrowed to continue the river trail. Joe halted and nodded with satisfaction at the three shooting blinds that faced the shoreline. The sets of upright logs formed a protective barrier about chest high at the pinch point between the shore-side clearing and the larger interior field.

  Joe looked over his shoulder as he headed inland toward Haven along Snake Creek trail. He could just see the smoke from Tork’s cooking fires rising over the thickly forested Bird Island. It drifted upward in slow arcs, catching the occasional puff of wind.

  Halfway to Haven, he turned onto a side path that wound up the hill to the tower.

  Within minutes, Joe reined in next to Mojo and Flicker under the tower. Nikaku, now joined by Brent, looked down from above. Tanuhu and Niminu stood next to Larry. Kristi leaned against one of the tower’s supports. At her feet, Hatimu sat as he attached one of Larry’s hammered points to a shaft with sinew.

  “Where’s Alita? Potts?”

  “Alita wanted to check that Sesapa moved the children and Grandmothers safely into the fort. She has the Ruger. I asked Potts to go with her,” Kristi said. “He took Zoey, too.”

  “Good,” Joe said and nodded to Larry.

  Larry repeated the message from Nist. A heavy silence formed.

  Joe gazed at the opposite shore. From their position at the base of the tower, they weren’t able to see beyond Bird Island. But smoke continued to curl upwards into the still air.

  “Brent, what do you see?” Joe looked up at the tower’s perch.

  “Only can see a few canoes lined up on the opposite shoreline through the trees on Bird Island. Could be more.”

  “They’re not going to let us go,” Kristi said in a flat voice.

  “That’s a given. But hopefully our carved sticks fooled Nist. And his words do give us another day to prepare.” Joe turned to Larry. “Just in case this is a feint, how about if you scout along the river trail for the rest of the day?” Joe looked up. “Brent, I’m also thinking that you and me should add shooting barriers where the river trail enters the clearing in case of flank attacks.”

  Joe turned to face the river. What else… Damn. They hadn’t considered the tree cover along the river. “Elders, can one of you please stand guard at the mouth of the Snake? Watch up and down river in case they try to approach by canoe along the shoreline? Much of the river’s edge is invisible from the trail and from the tower. Switch off as needed.”

  The three men nodded. “Tonight?” Brent asked.

  Joe blew out a breath. “We’ll have the tower manned. But let’s also have one of us patrol riverside clearing with Zoey. And the Ruger.”

  “What if we just run with the children?” Kristi stared across the river at the rising plumes of smoke.

  Joe faced east, Haven presenting an idyllic landscape framed by low hills. “We can’t ride faster than a running man on the trails in this terrain, even with the undergrowth burned off.”

  “Hide them?” Kristi asked.

  “He’s likely to have people posted on the ridges. It’s best that we stay together.” Joe took in a long breath. “As long as we can.”

  He looked at Larry, and then up at Brent. “But if we can cause them enough damage, maybe they won’t pursue the kids. They can take off and scatter if…they see things going against us.”

  It was more a matter of ‘when’ rather than ‘if,’ given the number of Tork’s warriors across the river. In the silence, Joe could hear the soft movement of the water, the calls of birds. The breathing of his friends who followed him into this mess. He watched Larry raise his face to look at Brent, who raised an eyebrow and nodded.

  Larry’s face broke into a cold smile. “We’ll hold ‘em off long enough.”

  ><><

  Tork stood watching as Nist climbed out of the small scout canoe. One of the ordinary warriors helped pull it onto the shoreline.

  Nist glanced upstream and, at Tork’s nod, walked in that direction. Tork joined him and they walked in silence until they were out of hearing of the warriors.

  Nist stopped. “They obtained more weapons. Even the elder fools are carrying the long lightning weapons.”

  Tork gazed across the river. The nearby island blocked any view of the devils along the shore but he could see several strangers in their bird perch.

  “I do not think they are the weapons that the boy who is no longer my son stole from us.” A wave of emotion flickered across Nist’s face. “We had three of the long lightning weapons. Only one had been left one with the strangers. But today I saw over a hand of the long weapons.” Tork scrutinized his friend. The pain in Nist’s face told of his sorrow at Samatu’s treachery. “The boy’s prints traveled south before disappearing into the river. None of my scouts found any sign that he reversed direction.” Tork’s eyes unfocused as images of many battles passed through his memory like fleet clouds. If only he had more warriors like Nist. He shifted his mind back to the present and the warriors he did have. “Because of their families, the common warriors will be willing to die in battle against the devil weapons. But I prefer not to lose them. I will need them when we move against Three Rivers.”

  Tork looked back at their camp. At the nearer end, several warriors lay on their backs, weakened by the blister fever. Their healer cast the blame for this weakness on the strangers and swore his medicine was stronger. He was a powerful healer and would overcome this demon curse. Tork shifted his gaze upriver. His fate lay there, but first he must consolidate the tribes around the great waters and control this river.

  He walked toward camp with Nist matching his steps. As they approached, he could see the slave women preparing the evening meal around the central fires. Maybe he would enjoy one after he ate and the sun slept. Around the cooking area, the Skullmen tossed sticks, wagering for their own use of the women.

  Tork stopped mid-stride. Samatu had reported that, without the lightning weapons, only the dark one had power. Perhaps entertainment would distract his warriors from the sickness. And demonstrate his own power and break the spirit of the strangers.

  Tork faced Nist. “Tomorrow morning, you will call the dark demon again.”

  Chapter 56. Day 202 - September 24

  Joe glanced over his shoulder as footsteps approached. Potts jogged down the embankment to join them at the mouth of Snake Creek.

  “Now what?” Potts looked from Joe to Hatimu to Alita.

  Joe pointed upstream to Gravel Island. “Nist signaled and then paddled up to the island.”

  On the island, two figures parted, Nist walking to a canoe beached on the opposite side of the island. As Tork’s second-in-command pushed his canoe into the water, Larry walked into the river.

  “Who’s covering him?” “Brent went with him.”

  In a few minutes, Brent rode into the river clearing followed by a bare-chested Larry still dripping water.

  Larry dismounted and dried his hair with his shirt before putting it on. “It gets better and better.”

  “Now what?” Joe felt his heart thudding in his chest.

  Larry’s expressive face was stone neutral.

  “He’s calling for a duel now.” Larry tucked his shirt into his jeans and buckled his belt. “Unarmed and ‘til one of u
s is dead.” He looked at Joe. “I offered to represent us. Nist just laughed.”

  “Who?” Alita’s voice quivered.

  “Tork and Joe. A duel on the island.”

  Alita grabbed Joe’s right arm. “No.” She started sobbing.

  Joe felt a momentary shudder run through him. He put his left hand on hers as he stared at the island, its open sand and gravel surface a perfect stage for a fight. “Tomorrow morning as the sun hits the island.”

  Larry’s shoulders slumped. “If you win, they leave. If you lose, we surrender.”

  “Any idea why he changed his mind?” Joe felt Alita lean against him, a refuge of warmth as a cold flood of fear washed over him.

  “I think the fake rifles worked. Maybe they gave him second thoughts about a direct attack.” Larry eyed Hatimu who was leaning on the carved wooden stick. “But that may not be true now.”

  Joe followed Larry’s eyes. “Do you think he recognized the wooden rifles?” Beyond Hatimu, Kristi jogged down the shoreline to join them. Alita released Joe’s arm and went to her. A pang of loss swept through him.

  Larry faced Joe. “I was watching him through the binos as he floated off shore getting our attention. I swear his eyes flicked past me, and widened. But only for a moment. Then he was back to his poker face.”

  No help for it. “What are the rules for a duel?” “One dies. One lives.”

  “Weapons?”

  “No weapons. Loincloths only.”

  Joe glanced over his shoulder to see Kristi put her arm around Alita. “How many cartridges do we have for the rifle?”

  “About a dozen,” Larry said in a low flat voice. “Revolver?”

  “Four. But hundreds for the Ruger.”

  “I figure there are at least a hundred warriors across the river. Probably more.” Joe shifted his gaze past Kristi and Alita. Several of the children had appeared along with Sesapa and Canisa.

  “They will attack regardless of who wins.” He stared into Alita’s eyes. “But if I can kill Tork, their attack will be weaker.”