He suspected magick.
Owen squatted next to the Altashee. “What is your knife made of?”
Kamiskwa smiled, never looking up from his work. “Your Prince calls it obsidian. In my tongue it is chadanak. It is ‘shadow that cuts.’ It is traded from far away and very valuable.”
“Same stone as the blade on your warclub?”
The Altashee nodded. “I am afforded it by my rank.”
“Yes, you are a Prince.” It struck Owen as very odd in that moment that he, a common officer, and Nathaniel, a commoner, were being served by nobility.
Is this place so strange that the natural order of things is overturned?
Nathaniel laughed from where he was building a tiny smokehouse with river stones. “Now Captain Strake, don’t be getting your knickers in a knot. Being a prince among the Shedashee ain’t exactly like being a prince in Norisle.”
“No?”
“See, the Twilight People set a store by magick. They’re much better at it than we are. The stronger you are, the better they like it. Tend to want strong men to breed with their strong women. Among them, the child belongs to the mother’s family, but there’s a bit of sharing. If a warrior got a child on one of Kamiskwa’s sisters, it would be expected that he’d return the favor.”
Kamiskwa nodded. “It keeps peace between the tribes.”
“Kamiskwa is a prince not just because his father is a great chieftain, but because he’s proven himself to be strong in magick. They have contests every two-three years for to pick princes. Then the matriarchs start horse-trading with other families and tribes for their services.”
Owen shook his head, not quite sure of what he was hearing. “So he will then have a wife chosen for him by tribal elders?”
“Not a wife.” Woods took out his tomahawk and chopped some branches off a maple tree to roof over his smokehouse. “It’s whoring according to Reverend Bumble.”
Owen looked at Kamiskwa. “Is he having me on again?”
“He exaggerates.” The Altashee, almost invisible in the growing gloom, looked up. “We have marriage guaranteeing that two people have children together exclusively, or with others by permission of the spouse. If I were to marry, my wife would join my household. Sharing seed keeps all tribes equal in power. It ties us together. No one wishes to go to war against his father’s people.”
“I see.”
Nathaniel laughed. “You will, inside the week, I’m thinking.”
Owen left to gather firewood and later, after they’d eaten, he pulled out his journal and began writing. He recorded the information about the Altashee marriage custom and the knife, covering a page. He included a rough sketch of the knife and tucked one of the small turkey feathers into the pages. Though not a great artist, his various drawings looked closer to reality than not.
He realized that he was including a lot more detail than he had expected, especially some concerning his reactions. He mentioned his surprise concerning the Altashee marriage custom, and his great joy at Woods’ turkey-killing shot. None of that had any value to his mission, but it pleased him to write it down.
He knew it would please Bethany, too. She was a lovely woman and smart. She was clearly a product of the land of her birth. He found it very easy to imagine her faring well were she with them. She’d tirelessly pitch in, doing a fair share of the work.
Catherine, on the other hand, would be lost completely. She would hate being out here. She would have little interest in the flora or fauna, and would be completely useless doing any work around camp. Even trying to collect firewood would likely inspire the vapors, necessitating a long rest. And we’d need another three canoes for her wardrobe.
The realization that he was writing for Bethany did not displease him. He would be clinical in the details he transferred into his official transcript, but in his private notes he wanted to record all his thoughts and feelings. Owen felt certain Bethany would appreciate them and, unlike his wife, would not become anxious just reading them.
Having a confidante, even in absentia, made the trip much easier. Nathaniel and Kamiskwa clearly had quite a history together, as well as a certain disdain for things Norillian. He’d never fit perfectly with them. This didn’t bother him too much. He was well used to being an outsider. Having someone to explain things to eased his isolation.
After cleaning up all sign of their campsite the next morning, they got back on the river. Owen got to see another moose and, later, watched a black bear clawing a bee-tree open to harvest honey. None of the creatures paid them any mind. Owen marveled at their lack of concern and, consequently, felt no fear.
Most often they traveled in silence, mostly out of a reverence for the land and its beauty. The sun dawned and painted the clouds red and blue. The setting sun could flood the sky with gold and deep scarlet. Once an eagle swooped down and plucked a salmon from the river, screaming victoriously and flew off to a nest high atop a tree.
Owen remained silent for fear of breaking whatever spell enabled him witness such wonders. Woods and Kamiskwa would share a silent glance, smiles splitting their faces, as they marveled at things like the eagle. They had so much wilderness experience, and yet the land still surprised them.
This pleased Owen, and scared him. If he were to be successful, he’d have to communicate a sense of Mystria to his superiors. Yet their attitude—based on birth, wealth, and rank—insulated them from understanding. They were already at the pinnacle of society, therefore at the pinnacle of the world. There could be nothing bigger or grander than what they already knew. To suggest otherwise would incite them to doubt their reality. It would be easier to convince them that wurms could fly than get them to see the true nature of Mystria.
On the fourth day they came to Grand Falls. The land rose abruptly for three hundred feet and the water traveled through a narrow gorge above a fantastic waterfall. They unloaded their gear just before noon and rested before beginning the trek through the woods to the upper river.
“We done walked the river ’bout as far as possible. Rest up here, start on foot tomorrow.”
“Very good, sir.” Owen sat on a rock beside the blue pool into which the water splashed. A bright rainbow glowed through light mist coming off the water. He pulled his journal from his pack and quickly sketched the falls.
“You’re getting a mite better, Captain.”
He looked up. “Thank you, Mr. Woods.”
“I’m not making nothing of your chicken scratches, mind, but you got the falls right.” He carried his sheathed rifle across his shoulders and pointed the butt toward the top. “Two years back me and Kamiskwa was up here come spring. Ice jammed up above there, so you could see everything dry. There’s a cave back behind the water. Looked as though a jeopard or two laired there down through the years.”
Owen glanced at his musket leaning against a tree. “I’d never make it alone, would I?”
“Nope, but this is more bear country. Don’t have much of a taste for men. Now an ax-bird would be on you in a heartbeat.”
Owen flipped to the back of the journal and unfolded the Prince’s list. “A-ha. Ax-bird. Is that just a legend?”
Woods shook his head. “They exist. More to the south and across the mountains. Mild winter, snow early out of the passes, some of them come over. Hain’t seen sign for a while.”
The soldier traced his finger down the list. “Giant Ground Sloth? Mammoth? Wooly Rhinoceros?”
“Down south, Fairlee and Ivory Hills. Newland and Felling maybe. Ivory Hills got its name from the Mammoths. We might see one of those Wooly Rhinoceroses he wants. Short of having a cannon, there will be no bringing one back.”
Kamiskwa made a comment in his own tongue.
“Add a bigger canoe and a bigger river.” Nathaniel walked over, slung his rifle across his back, and hefted the canoe with Kamiskwa. They started off through the woods along a well-worn path.
Owen gathered up his things, including the paddles, and followed. Like Woods, he s
lung his musket across his back. Bringing it to hand would take a while, so he slipped the pistol into his right hand. He kept his thumb off the firestone, but kept watch as they moved.
They followed no trail, just picked their way between trees and over hummocks. Five hundred feet from the river, near a large standing stone, they overturned the canoe in a sandy depression. Woods motioned for Owen to give him the paddles, which he tucked under the canoe.
“You’ll just leave this here?”
“Won’t nobody touch it.” Nathaniel nodded. “Mystrians will know it’s Shedashee, and won’t want to be caught dead taking a lend of it. The Shedashee will know it’s Kamiskwa’s and ain’t gonna take it for similar reasons.”
Owen studied the canoe more closely. “How will they know? There’s not a mark on it.”
“Not to you and me, but in magick…” Nathaniel shrugged. “As I said afore, the Shedashee is better at magick than we is. Kamiskwa made the canoe, so there ain’t no mistaking who it belongs to.”
Gathering their equipment, they set off on a trail paralleling the falls. It gently cut back and forth across the face of the foothills. It leveled out now and again, affording them a chance to rest. After about an hour they reached the gorge’s far end and made camp in a clearing that had seen much use.
Owen surveyed the river above the falls. Broad and shallow, with lots of rocks and trees that spring floods had tumbled down from the mountains, it was useless for commerce or troop transport. “If du Malphias is going to use the Benjamin, he’d have to start down below.”
“He’d be having plenty of eyes on him.” Nathaniel pointed south across the river. “T’other side there is Lanatashee territory. They’s in the Confederation, though me and Kamiskwa don’t have much truck with them. Altashee this side. Iffen he was a-coming, you’d know.”
Owen glanced toward Kamiskwa. “Would your people stop him?”
The Altashee looked up. “Wars between white men do not interest us much. You fight to possess things. You want to control land. We wish to live with it. War is too serious to unleash for silly reasons.”
“But you would let us know he was coming.”
Kamiskwa smiled. “And we would watch you fight.”
Owen nodded. “Nothing could induce you…”
“The Altashee, they ain’t mercenaries like Seven Nations tribes. Ungarakii would fight for the promise of warm spit on a hot day. Don’t ’spect the Ryngians is paying them much more than that.”
“Will we be running into hostiles, do you think?”
Kamiskwa laughed. “No Ungarakii has the courage to come into Altashee land. They dream of it, but such dreams become nightmares.”
The Norillian soldier smiled. “Very good.”
“Don’t mean we won’t be setting watches.” Nathaniel unlimbered his rifle. “Some times them Ungarakii do dream, and takes a dose of lead to wake them up again.”
Chapter Eighteen
May 7, 1763
Bounty, Mystria
In their first day away from the river, they moved as quickly as practical through the forest, following meandering game trails when they could, cutting through ravines, splashing through streams, or going directly over hills when that shortened the distance significantly. Kamiskwa led them, setting a challenging but not terribly difficult course. Owen sensed in him a desire to return to his family—a sentiment he’d never shared and found himself envying.
Within the first four hours they suffered the first casualty. Though Owen’s boots had been issued by a quartermaster at Horse Guards, they split at the seams and the left sole flapped open at the toe. Where the boots weren’t falling apart, they rubbed his feet raw. The pain at his heels competed with the burning of his shoulders and thighs.
Owen searched his pack for some cord to bind up the shoe, but Kamiskwa knelt and pulled his boots off. “Salve your feet. Put on more stockings.”
Owen did as he was bidden. The salve stung a bit at first, especially on the heel, then a cool numbness spread over his feet. “The salve helps, but I wish I could be dangling my feet in a stream.”
Nathaniel leaned on his rifle. “Be time for that later. That salve, it has mogiqua in it. That’s the numbness.” He reached over and plucked a frond from a fernlike plant. “Good for most anything what ails a man.”
Kamiskwa applied his smaller knife to Owen’s boots. He cut away the lowers, then split the uppers along the seams. He drilled holes around the upper portion’s perimeter, then dug leather thongs from his pack. He threaded the thongs, then laced Owen’s feet into them. The excess leather wrapped up over his toes, and up the back of his heel, giving him some basic protection.
The makeshift moccasins only required parts of one boot, but Kamiskwa insisted he keep the other half. “These will not last too long.”
“Thank you.” Owen stood and flexed his feet. The moccasins felt good, but he didn’t like being out of uniform. He recalled how miserable the army had appeared during the retreat from Villerupt and hated it. He wanted to show the Tharyngians that pride still existed among the Norillians.
At least I am not barefoot.
Kamiskwa rose, sheathed his knife, and started off again. Following game trails made the walking relatively easy. Bushwhacking caused Owen all sorts of problems. The brush tore at his clothes, whipped his face, and threatened to yank his musket from his grasp. His hat hit the ground more than once.
Kamiskwa seemed to delight in plowing through berry bushes. Since he and Nathaniel wore leather leggings they had no problems. The thorns shredded Owen’s pants and stockings. Even being able to grab a handful of berries on the way didn’t make up for the clawing he endured.
Running up through streams eliminated the problem with branches and thorns, but caused other difficulties. The leather lacings stretched when wet, so Owen had to pause and tighten them. And while the water did help soothe his feet at first, his feet chilled quickly. He found himself freezing from the waist down and sweating profusely under his coat.
Despite his pain and discomfort, Owen did notice one thing he considered significant. Whenever they reached the reverse slope of some hill and he could get a view of the distance, Kamiskwa had them pointed unerringly in the same direction—north-northwest.
“It’s as if Kamiskwa has a compass.” Owen offered Nathaniel his canteen during a stop.
The Mystrian drank. “Kamiskwa’s sense of direction is that good, and he’s lived in this area for his whole life, but there are signs he watches for. Sees them with magick.”
“That’s not possible. Magick only works with things you can touch.”
“Could be that’s true. Then again, the Shedashee is better at magick than us.” Nathaniel pointed at a large rock coming up on the right. “They train people to be pathfinders. Give them magick to mark stones and trees. He can see it or feel it.”
“But how?”
“Well, I’ve given that some thought.” Nathaniel swept a hand through air. “You feel the air iffen you do that?”
Owen nodded. “Of course.”
“I reckon the air carries the sense of the magick to him.”
“Again, not possible.”
“No?” Nathaniel smiled. “You don’t touch the brimstone when you shoot your musket, but it fires all the same.”
“But that’s because the firestones are created special to transfer the magick.” Owen watched Nathaniel’s smile grow and stopped talking. He couldn’t deny the logic of Nathaniel’s example, but if it were true, then a number of assumptions about how his world worked suddenly came into question. It was
a bit more than he cared to think about at the moment.
“Must be because he’s powerful in magick.”
Nathaniel laughed as they started moving again. “And could be that you’re not privy to magicks that would let you see how powerful you are.”
“What?”
“Well, Captain, my thinking goes like this: if the Twilight People are more powerful than we are, at le
ast we know how powerful we might be. And a powerful man, he might throw his weight around.”
“I can see that.” Owen ducked beneath a branch and started down the hill after Kamiskwa. “Your point?”
“My point is that magick would have to be controlled.” Woods cut between pine trees beside him. “Look at firestones. You can only buy them from Fire Wardens. You use too many too fast, they don’t sell to you. You don’t bring in an old one for new, you don’t get a new one. And if you’re caught using a substitute, depending on the magistrate, you could lose your thumbs.”
“That’s an extreme punishment.”
“Granted, but why the limit on firestones? And why do you have to learn magick from a patent mage?”
“They don’t want people hurting themselves. You have to know your limit.” Owen held up a thumb. “Magick can hurt you, even when used correctly.”
“I ain’t thinking the government cares ’bout people hurting themselves.” Nathaniel snorted. “I’m thinking that they don’t care if redemptioneers and beggars die on the voyage over, long as it’s not too many die.”
“You hear stories of people dying from using magick.”
“But have you ever seen it?”
“No.” Owen snarled. “You seem to take a certain delight in trying to vex me.”
“Ain’t that, Captain.” Nathaniel gave him a solemn nod. “You’re a smart man. Them’s some questions need a smart man thinking on ’em.”
By late afternoon they reached a wide stream and crossed. Kamiskwa led them on for another half-hour, then signaled for them to slow. Nathaniel shucked the sheath from his rifle. Owen drew the pistol. Both of them crouched and followed Kamiskwa into the brush.
They came to a small depression in the ground lined with a carpet of leaves from several autumns. A man’s body lay huddled there, knees drawn up toward the chest, but arms not hugging them in. There was no question that he was dead. Maggots writhed beneath his skin, something had gnawed off his ears and lips. Birds had been harvesting hair and a larger beast had begun feasting on his calves.
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