Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3)

by Olan Thorensen

  Being in an interior location meant he didn’t have direct access to patrolling sloops. Another agent was stationed in Salford, the only significant Keelan port. Eluk Sargol was a Caedelli, a Nyvaks clansman. His hetman had assigned him to work with the Narthani at the time Hetman Nyvaks had toyed with cooperating with the Narthani. The Nyvaks hetman’s enthusiasm for a Narthani alliance had waned, particularly after Moreland City. Yet Sargol had already been in Salford for two years, so there was no way for Nyvaks to recall him, and the Narthani liked him right where he was.

  Sargol, aka Drifwich, was obviously an islander, but his mother came from Pawell, the neighboring province and clan to Nyvaks. Drifwich could turn on a Pawellese accent, making it easy to pass for a Pawellese who had moved to Salford to work on the docks. Besides working as a stevedore, Drifwich drove wagons of cargo between Salford and Caernford, to also connect there with Havant. The problem was, most communications back to Hizer occurred through light signals at night to Narthani sloops lingering offshore. Sending complicated messages was impossible, and HIzer had instructed Havant to provide detailed reports only if he deemed the information absolutely essential. In that case, Drifwich would signal the sloop to make physical contact, and a small Narthani launch would row to a secluded cove ten miles east of Salford, where Drifwich would pass on written reports. So far, Havant had not been certain that any information he had was critical enough to risk direct contact between Drifwich and the Narthani navy.

  Yet he had agonized over one topic: whether to risk physical contact to pass on what he had learned about Yozef Kolsko. He had first heard rumors of a strange man found naked on a Keelan beach, who had subsequently introduced products no one had ever seen before. The ether, new alcoholic drinks, soaps, and the like had not seemed important to Havant. Even after hearing vague rumors of Kolsko having a role in the defense of St. Sidryn’s, Havant didn’t evaluate the Kolsko information as important enough to include in the condensed messages Drifwich relayed to the sloops.

  Besides gathering information and passing it on to Drifwich, Havant’s other task was keeping an eye on Hetman Keelan, learning his routine, and using message delivery to the manor as the cover to map out the manor and all signs of defenses. Hizer had told Havant that Keelan was a key clan and its hetman widely respected. The time might come when the Narthani would deem it necessary to remove Culich Keelan, and Havant would play a key role in whatever move they devised.

  CHAPTER 21: ANARYND

  Maera rose well before dawn or, as she recently thought of it, “rolled out of bed,” because she often felt like a ball when she moved. She slept only three to four hours at a time, before discomfort and the need to urinate precluded sleep. She tried not to wake Yozef unless she needed help. That day he woke about dawn, they ate together, and he scurried off to the shops to check on various projects. Previously, Maera had accompanied him on his tasks, until her mobility kept her nearer to the house and available beds, rockers, swings, cushions—anything to get off her feet before they swelled. Intellectually, she knew the side-effects of pregnancy: swollen feet, frequent urination, and choppy sleeping. However, knowing and experiencing weren’t the same.

  As one saving grace, she had suffered little of the expected morning sickness that women had warned her of. For her mother, it had lasted almost the entire length of her pregnancies and had run in her mother’s family. Maera had assumed she would endure the same. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened. Despite the aforementioned symptoms, she felt better than at any time in her life, a continuation of her good health since marrying. She had been a chronic sufferer of minor illnesses, what Yozef called “colds,” as long as she could remember. For whatever reason, she had had none since their marriage. Her sister Ceinwyn, when not pouting about something or another, usually pestered Maera for whatever new medicine Maera took, because Ceinwyn suffered from the same predilection for colds. Maera insisted there was no new medicine to explain her good health. Her mother attributed it to her being happy. Whatever it was, Maera felt . . . good. The swollen feet, the frequent urination, and the spotty sleep were relegated to being mere irritants.

  Maera got a cup of kava from the kitchen and had just ensconced herself on a cushioned swing Yozef had had built on the front porch of the house, when Esyl Havant from the Caernford semaphore station rode up to the house, jumped off the horse as only a younger man could, and hurried up to Maera.

  “How are you, Esyl?” asked Maera of the man who usually delivered semaphore messages.

  “I’m fine, Sen Keelan-Kolsko. A beautiful day, and you’re looking radiant. Being with child obviously suits you. I have a message for you from the station at the Keelan/Moreland border.”

  He pulled the message sheet from his pouch and held it out to her.

  She felt curious why in God’s name she would get a message from there, and who could it be from?

  “Thank you. Please wait in case I need to reply.”

  Esyl bowed slightly and went back to his horse. Maera unfolded the paper and read:

  From: Semaphore station, Keelan/Moreland border post

  To: Maera Kolsko-Keelan, Caernford

  22 Moreland women walked to the border post.

  Leader claims to know Maera Keelan and begs asylum.

  Holding women waiting instructions.

  Leader name Anarynd Moreland.

  Anarynd!

  Maera gasped in shock. Since Anarynd had disappeared during the raid into Moreland four months previously, there had been no word of her. Maera had felt conflicted. First, she hoped that Anarynd was simply unaccounted for and would reappear. Then, when hope faded, Maera wondered whether Ana was dead or a captive of the Narthani. Given Ana’s striking looks and the Narthani history, Maera shuddered to think what her life would be like as a Narthani slave.

  But Ana walking to Keelan? Why? Who were these other women? Where had she been? Why no word earlier? Questions, questions—too many questions. The answers lay with Ana herself. Ordinarily, Maera would have been tempted to jump on a horse or into a carriage and ride the seventy miles to the border, but not in her current condition.

  “Esyl,” she called out to the messenger, “I’ll give you a message to send back to the border post. Wait here while I write it.”

  She went inside, sat at a table, and wrote:

  To Semaphore station, Keelan/Moreland post

  From Maera Keelan-Kolsko, Caernford

  Urgent you provide transportation of women to Caernford.

  Commandeer wagons and horses as necessary. Expect to

  see them here within 2 days.

  She gave her scrawled message to Havant, with stern instructions to get the message off immediately. She felt appeased that he nodded nervously—no one wanted to get on Maera Kolsko-Keelan’s bad side. He could not have gotten on his horse any faster, and he disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road, back toward the semaphore station.

  That was an advantage to being the hetman’s daughter; people didn’t want to irritate her.

  Maera sat back on the porch swing.

  Ana! Oh, Ana, what have you been through, and what’s going on?

  She sat there until Yozef came back for the mid-day meal. He could see she appeared pale, yet more excited than ill.

  “Maera, are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, and one corner of her mouth rose in, not quite a smile, but more in reassurance. “I’m fine, Yozef. It’s just that a semaphore message to me arrived this morning. From Ana.”

  “Anarynd? Your friend? She’s been found? I know how hard it was for you to hear of her disappearance during the Eywellese raid. Did the message have word about her?”

  “Yes, but it’s very strange. The Keelan/Moreland border post writes that Ana and some other women walked up to the post.”

  “Walked? Nothing else?”

  “Nothing. Of course, semaphore messages are brief. Still . . . I thought about asking for more information but simply ordered the station people to provide
transportation directly here as quickly as possible, and that I expected them to be here in two days.”

  Yozef smiled to himself. Maera had had no formal position, except that she was the daughter of Hetman Keelan. She rarely invoked that status, but when she did, she left little doubt she expected results.

  “How many women?”

  “The message said twenty-one, in addition to Anarynd.”

  “Twenty-one!”

  Maera merely nodded.

  “Walking? Not wagons, horses . . . walking?”

  “Walking,” confirmed Maera with a worried look.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Yozef. “Why in the world would they be walking? Maybe their transportation left them near the station for some reason, instead of bringing them all the way into Keelan.”

  Maera considered for a moment, then replied slowly. as if it were possible but unlikely, “Yes . . . I suppose that would be an explanation. Of course, then the question is why leave them?”

  “Well, we’ll see when they get here.” Yozef thought for a moment. “This doesn’t sound right. You say they’re supposed to be brought straight here?”

  “Yes.”

  “That means they will come by the main road from Moreland. Do they have food? Will whoever is bringing them here stay at villages or what?”

  Maera looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then flushed angrily and let out a stream of Caedelli invectives that would not have been out of place in any pub. Yozef gave her another minute or so, then said reassuringly, “I’ll go to the semaphore station and direct that provisions be provided in route. I’ll pay any costs. I also think someone should meet them, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?” Maera’s eyes narrowed in a worried expression.

  “Just in case someone needs to meet them,” said Yozef. “I’ll ask Carnigan to go with me.”

  “Not just Carnigan. Take Denes and a few more men.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. Especially Denes. He’s so busy right now with other matters.”

  “I do. You’re getting better on horseback, but humor me. I’ll feel better.”

  Yozef shrugged. “Denes really is too busy for something like this. I’ll be fine with Carnigan, and I’ll take Balwis.”

  It took two hours to gather the party, and three hours before sunset they rode off by horse. Yozef was accompanied by Carnigan, a medicant in training from the abbey, a disgruntled Balwis, who had an assignation planned that evening with a widow in Caernford, and seven other men, all armed. Yozef thought it overkill, but Maera had given in on Denes and would not be thwarted for less than a seven-man escort. They covered thirty miles before total darkness descended and it became dangerous for them and their mounts to keep up that pace. They dry-camped near a stream and were on the road again by first light, enough to see the roadbed clearly. Their obvious haste encouraged other travelers on the road to move aside. Yozef had wished he would never again have to make a long ride, but he felt encouraged that either his memory of the last time was faulty or he had gotten better at this. It could also be the new horse Maera had given him. Yozef named him Mr. Ed, to everyone’s bemusement. The horse was strong and fast but easy to control, with a naturally smooth gait greatly appreciated by Yozef’s butt. Seabiscuit had shown signs of getting along in horse years, and Yozef didn’t want to stress the gentle gelding.

  They alternately trotted, walked the horses, and took only occasional breaks throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Yozef got his usual odd looks when he began singing.

  A horse is a horse, of course, of course,

  And no one can talk to a horse, of course,

  That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.

  Go right to the source and ask the horse.

  He'll give you the answer that you'll endorse.

  He's always on a steady course.

  Talk to Mr. Ed.

  It was a loony moment, and Yozef laughed so hard, he almost fell off Mr. Ed. A five-year-old Joseph Colsco had watched the old TV series until disillusioned by an older sister that horses didn’t actually talk. He still remembered the theme song lyrics. He sang in English, so none of the Caedelli had clues to the words’ meaning.

  “Are you going to tell us what’s so amusing or keep us wondering whether you’ve lost your mind?” Carnigan asked.

  “How could you tell?” asked Balwis, to the tittering of several escorts.

  “It’s a song for when you feel happy,” said Yozef, “like in a pub.”

  “What do the words mean?” Carnigan asked.

  “They don’t translate well, so if you want to sing along, just try to copy the sounds.”

  “And let everyone who hears us think there’s more than one idiot in this group?” snorted Balwis. “Think again.”

  Yozef broke into song once more, this time with Carnigan attempting to follow along. By the tenth iteration, four of the seven escorts joined in.

  Oh, God, Yozef thought to himself. If I just had a camera and a microphone to record this for Youtube, it’d go viral within minutes. Ten armed men on horseback, six of them singing the Mister Ed theme.

  * * *

  On the second day, an hour before sunset, they saw two wagons heading south toward them. Within a few hundred yards, Yozef recognized them as the travel party. Balwis rode ahead, then Yozef got a close look at the wagon’s contents when the rest of the men caught up with Balwis.

  “Well, Jesus H. Christ!” Yozef spoke angrily in English, so naturally no one understood.

  Each small farm wagon held ten to twelve women huddled together on the wooden bed, some of them gripping the side of the bed for support on one wagon. The other wagon had a simple flat platform, and the women had to be constantly alert not to be thrown off. They were bedraggled—dirty, with ragged or torn clothing, some barefoot, and if Yozef’s first glimpse of their feet was any indication, they must have walked much of the way from wherever they’d come from. Several showed bruises, fading, so however they’d acquired these, it had been at least some days ago. All had haunted eyes.

  Balwis was talking to one of the women when Yozef and the others arrived. The woman, a blonde—at least, Yozef thought her hair blonde underneath the grime and dirt—seemed to speak for the group.

  Is this Anarynd Moreland? Yozef wondered. He waited impatiently until Balwis finished speaking with her and came over to where Yozef stood holding his horse’s bridle.

  “She says her name is Anarynd Moreland, and she wants to see Maera.”

  “Did she say anything about why they arrived to Keelan like this or who the other women are?”

  “She wouldn’t say. Just kept asking for Maera. One of the others mumbled something about escaping from the Eywellese.”

  “They look half starved. Have they eaten today?”

  Carnigan shook his head. “I doubt it. Maybe no water either.”

  “We’ll go back to the village we just passed through,” Yozef decided. “What was it called?”

  “Dilstin,” said Balwis.

  Yozef thought he noticed something in Balwis’s expression. “What is it, Balwis?”

  The other man looked uncomfortable. “You know I lived and worked in Moreland after I escaped Preddi. It just occurs to me that these women look like they have been cast out by their families. This sometimes happens if a Moreland family feels the woman has shamed the family honor. I heard in a pub that Stent clansmen rescued some women after the Moreland City battle. I’m wondering if these are some of them.”

  “Why would they be cast out by their families after being rescued?”

  “Yozef,” Balwis said gruffly, “think about it. These are all young women. What do you think the Narthani and Eywellese were doing with young women captives?”

  Yozef stared blankly for a few seconds at the women clutching one another, not looking at the Keelan men.

  He flushed angrily. “God damn it!” No translation was necessary.

  He looked agai
n at the women, this time looking differently at them, his eyes narrowed and focused. Two of them looked as if they might be pregnant. Then a bundle that one woman held let out a weak cry, and he realized, shocked, that the bundle was a baby. At least one more woman held such a “bundle.” He looked straight into Carnigan’s face, and, with a cold voice they had not heard from Yozef before, asked, “They were thrown out by their families because they were raped against their will?”

  Carnigan looked uncomfortable, “Some families will feel they are dishonored. Not in all clans, of course, but I am afraid it does happen. Clans are different, and the Morelanders are among the pricklier in issues of honor—at least, as they think of it.”

  “Assholes,” Yozef muttered, this time in Caedelli.

  “Try to understand, Yozef. For the Morelanders, after all they have been through, any association like this with the Narthani will be difficult for them to accept. I can see that some of these women have a child or are with child. If what we suspect is true, these are children of their Narthani or Eywellese captors. It would be hard enough to accept the women back, but also the children of the hated enemy? It’s just too much to expect of some families.”

  Yozef’s face appeared no longer flushed but instead was made of stone.

  I keep forgetting, he thought to himself. I have to remember where I am, and even so, there were plenty of instances of similar attitudes back on Earth.

  Recently, he had been thinking about the rumors that speculated about him being a Septarsh. Usually, he studiously avoided saying anything to feed the rumors. Not today.

  If they insisted on assigning mythological status to him, he might as well use it.

  He raised his voice so all could hear and did his best “prophet in the pulpit” imitation. “It is against the Word of God to punish those harmed against their will. He who cannot give understanding and mercy can expect none from God.”