The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  “What?”

  “Didn’t lose a single warrior.”

  Jonah shook his head, his mouth hanging open.

  “You might want to offer that chief an apple.”

  Chapter 25

  The moon hung low on the horizon with a smoky halo protecting it from the encroaching cold. The Elk let their fires burn low, and the other clans did so as well. Solomon and Gunney stood guard over the north end of the camp, and Declan made rounds on the inner edge of the cart circle. These tactics would not prevent an ambush but they would lessen the impact of one. Jonah swore he would not be caught off guard again.

  Jonah tossed a twig into the fire and looked at the heap of rags fifty yards away. He smiled at Rav even though the man was asleep. The odd guardian of the pass had extorted supplies and goods from his clan and others for decades. He ate apples like a wild hog and smelled like one, too. And yet, there was something wholesome in his eyes, something that made Jonah trust him. Rav had called his father a dick. Maybe that was it.

  Jonah turned to face the outcast clan and thought about the story Rav told. He had to know if the tale was true and if this band of nomads had beaten back the Cygoa without a single loss. Jonah examined the ground where the clan lay—no fire or tents. He stared at them. None moved, save for one—the leader. His white eyes shone from the dark, unblinking and focused on Jonah’s.

  “Come,” Jonah said to the man.

  The leader rose, and his black cape fluttered in the cold night air. There would be frost come morning, and Jonah thought again of the clan with no fire or covering. The man walked to Jonah and stood on the other side of the fire, his hands at his sides.

  “Sit with me.”

  The man nodded and did as he was told.

  Jonah took a satchel from beneath his coat and put a pinch of leaf on a paper. He rolled the smoke, lit it and handed it over the low-burning fire to the tribal leader. The man refused it. Jonah put a thin log on the fire, bringing the flames alive. The orange glow revealed dozens of thin scars, running the entire length of his face, from his black headband to his beard.

  “Tell me of your fight with the Cygoa.”

  “Why should I tell you of anything? Your father banished us to the forest on pain of death,” the man said. “For two decades we have been forbidden to settle. Only Rav could make me listen. I now think I made a mistake coming here.”

  “My father is dead. I lead the Elk now.”

  The man huffed and blinked for the first time since he sat down across from Jonah.

  “The Cygoa. When did they attack you?”

  “Several weeks ago.”

  Jonah thought about the timeframe. That would place this conflict within a few days of their fight with the invaders from the north. He wondered if it had been the same group of warriors.

  “Rav says you fought them off. Did not lose a single warrior.”

  “Rav speaks the truth.”

  Jonah took a drag. The end of his smoke glowed hot and then faded back to a dull red.

  “He says you have,” Jonah said, exhaling smoke, “something of a special talent.”

  The man remained silent.

  “What is your name?” Jonah asked.

  “I have no name.”

  Jonah raised his eyebrows and drew another hit. “So what does your wife call you?”

  No answer.

  “What about your clan? What is it called?”

  “We are unnamed. It was Forbidden.”

  “I’m the chief of the Elk, and I’ve banded these clans together. We are heading to Eliz. Our warriors have blades and axes. They will follow me into battle.”

  “You do not frighten me with your threats.”

  “It was not meant to be a threat,” said Jonah. “I am not my father.” He felt the warmth of the fire on his face and the cold nip of winter on his back. He glanced again at the heap of rags that was Rav. Jonah spotted Declan at the east edge of the camp but saw no other people awake.

  “We have heard that you are your own man. You lead independent of your father’s legacy.”

  Jonah nodded his head, a bit dizzy from the quick turn in conversation. “That is true.”

  “Then we come to you asking permission to settle. We want a village. We are a tired people.”

  Jonah tossed the butt of his toke into the fire and exhaled one last lungful of smoke.

  “First you tell me what happened with the Cygoa.”

  “That is not what you want to know. You know the outcome.”

  “Okay,” said Jonah. “Then tell me how it happened.”

  “Our ancestors came from the west. They emerged from the old world and gathered more as they traveled east. They had a tradition of dance and song, one that would not last for long after it all ended. They passed down to us a power of persuasion, one that comes from this.”

  The man reached beneath his robes and held out a thin, wooden tube with holes on the top.

  “A flute,” Jonah said.

  “Yes,” the man said. “And with it the power to subdue anger in your enemy.”

  “You can teach me to play it?”

  “No. It is magic. And it belongs to my people.”

  “You’re telling me you played a song for the Cygoa and they stood by while you slaughtered them.”

  “Not me,” said the man. “All of us. We played and they listened, then we struck before they could respond.”

  Jonah looked behind the man to see the entire outcast clan holding flutes in the air like treasured swords. He had not seen or felt their movements.

  “Can we settle?”

  “Yes,” Jonah said, without a second thought.

  “Can we come with you to Eliz?”

  “Adding a clan is not a trivial matter. I’d have to speak to the elders first. I may lead the convoy, but I do not rule over the other clans of Wytheville. I am one voice of six.”

  “You cannot harness our gift as a weapon. But you can form an alliance with us and right the wrong your father brought on us so long ago. We are a tired people—without names and without a home. But we are loyal to the end. I promise you we will die at the hands of the Cygoa while protecting this convoy, if that is what you command.”

  “Tomorrow we arrive on the outskirts of Eliz. We break camp at sunrise. You will join us. I will deal with the other elders.”

  The corners of the man’s mouth moved upward, pushing the scars into swirling lines. Jonah assumed it was the best smile the man could produce.

  “Thank you. And I apologize for how I spoke to you on the road. I was very young when my clan was punished. I did not like being commanded by the son of the man who ruined our lives, but I see you are very different than him in spirit.”

  The man stood, as did Jonah. They shook hands over the fire. The man with no name turned and took three steps toward The Forbidden.

  “Hey,” Jonah said. “Before we get to Eliz I will expect a new name for your clan.”

  The man nodded.

  “And a name for you as well, my friend.”

  Chapter 26

  The distant ruins of Eliz seemed to rise from the very ground as the convoy headed into the valley, and although it had only been a year since he had been there last, led that time by his father and the ever-present Nera, Jonah somehow remembered the view as being more impressive. They crested the last rise and the valley and plains below stretched out before them, and Jonah sighed with relief at that final view, but then frowned as he took in the vast panorama of open grounds that ended with the crumbling skeleton that he imagined had once, many centuries ago, been an impressive city.

  It was not as big as he remembered, and the many funnels of smoke that now rose from the ruins added a grim grayness to the air. The open plains outside the city were lush with color, but a grey smog seemed to hover over the ruins, making it seem like a festering wound.

  He was tired, as were they all, but finally he had made it. They had made it.

  I did it, he thought, as he
stood on the crest of the hill and looked across the land, seeing groups of people dotted everywhere, heading in toward the city at the end of their own pilgrimages.

  I got them here. All of them.

  Well, nearly all of them, he thought. And his mind drifted for a moment to thoughts of Seren and Roke, and the others that had left for the south. Were they still alive? Or were they dying from sickness somewhere, struggling with their last breaths upon the tainted southern land. He hoped they lived, even though he was still sore with bitterness at their decision to leave.

  Three hours later, the clans gathered upon the edge of Eliz.

  “Form the circle,” Jonah commanded to no one in particular, but it was enough of a command that it would spread throughout the convoy as it arrived. After so many nights using the same camp setup it had become second nature to the clans. And now, after Leta had several of the younger clan members working hard whenever they found ruined wagons on the road, all of the carts were protected by sheets of metal on the outside. Jonah was impressed. If you stood on the outside looking in, it looked as though someone had built a low fort overnight, with no easy way to sneak in, other than climbing over razor sharp metal.

  Solomon approached him and grinned, and Jonah was relieved at his friend’s cheerful manner. “We made it,” the man said, nodding. “And not too many losses.”

  “Less than ever known before,” Gunney said, joining the pair. “If you don’t count those that left to go south. I wouldn’t count them.”

  “They may still be alive,” said Jonah. “But they chose their path, and they are not our concern anymore.” He felt no truth in the words, even as they came from his lips.

  “We’ll need to find a spot before the best ones are taken,” Gunney said, pointing toward the city ruins.

  “Already on it,” Jonah said. At this, the two other men raised their eyebrows. “I sent a dozen scouts into the city an hour ago. They should be back by early evening. We can set up here, for now, and move when they give us a location.”

  Solomon peered at him, questioningly. “You don’t sound convinced of that,” he said.

  Jonah shook his head. “I remember what it was like the last few years. Not sure I want us to set up in one of the innermost areas, but I’ll await judgment from the council on that.”

  Gunney laughed but didn’t speak.

  “What?” Jonah asked, frowning.

  Gunney coughed, banged his chest and then looked up at Jonah, and Jonah could see the amusement in the man’s eyes. “You expect them to decide that?” he said.

  “It’s their choice,” said Jonah.

  “Is it?” asked Gunney.

  “Of course,” Jonah said, turning to gaze toward the ruins and wondering what the council would decide. “They speak for the people of the clans.” He remembered what it was like when all of the clans that travelled to Eliz had finally arrived and taken their spots in the city. He remembered the cramped conditions, but most of all he remembered the smell, and he wondered if he should go and look for himself before dragging the mass of people and carts through the streets.

  Gunney and Solomon looked at each other, eyebrows raised once more.

  “I would say the choice is down to you,” said Solomon. “And they’ll pretty much do as they are told.”

  Jonah chuckled at that and turned back to his friends. “I promised to get them all here, and that is done. It’s not my choice what happens for the other clans now. The Elk are my only concern, now that we’re here.”

  The three were quiet for a moment before Solomon spoke again. “I think the people of the other clans would rather it was you who made the decision,” he said. “And I think they are all pleased that they got here with fewer losses than usual.”

  Jonah shrugged. “I’ll not cross the council,” he said. “Even if I’ve had sharp words for some of them so far. They are old and spend too much time blabbering and not enough time doing what needs to be done, but they are still the elders. I can’t command another clan.”

  Gunney scratched his chin. “You think not? I think that if you went in there and informed them of what they were doing, they’d do whatever you told them to do.”

  Chapter 27

  The Leader That Was sniffed loudly and growled at the smaller wolf, and she backed away, slowly, until she reached a nearby tree, and then she was gone, breathing heavily as she ran.

  Good, thought The Leader That Was. Be gone and don’t come back unless you find something to eat.

  He sniffed heavily once more and looked down at the set of tracks on the ground, tracks that weren’t the Walking One Bitch but were still made by man.

  Where has she gone? he wondered. He worried for a moment that maybe his senses were failing, just as other things had begun to fail. His balance, for one thing, seemed to be slightly off. Even with the Flying Claw finally removed, and the wound beginning to heal, somehow he felt dizzy if he moved too quickly, and his right back leg didn’t react as it should.

  Flying Claws poison the blood, he thought. They are evil.

  He had followed the tracks to the bushes at the side of the road, hurrying forward, eager. He was finally catching her up, and she was alone. He had even seen her in the distance, far down the Walking One trail, and that had given him a boost of energy he had thought was no longer possible.

  He would kill her. He would.

  For many moons he had wondered if his chances were over, and if his body would fail him before he could run her down. Always she had been with greater numbers of Walking Ones, and always she slept out of the way, in places he could not reach.

  But now she was alone, in the snow, and easy to track. And he could sense she was growing weary. The Falling White Cold that came from the sky was wearing her down in way that it never would a wolf. The Leader That Was had no problem with the snow, but he knew The Walking Ones couldn’t survive in it for long. Many a meal he had made of a frozen, already-dead Walking One that had succumbed to the Falling White Cold.

  And yet here he was, once more without a clear trail and no idea where she had vanished to. He thought, as he had prowled along the Walking One road—up and down, up and down—that he had smelled her a few times, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact spot.

  She was near, and she had been here, but he couldn’t find her.

  And then the hunger had begun to overwhelm him, and he looked for the young pup, but NoTail had fled, fearing his anger.

  The Leader That Was sniffed at the ground and looked down the path that wound down the hill, into the forest. There was the scent of prey that way.

  The Walking One Bitch would have to wait.

  She would be tomorrow’s dinner.

  The Leader That Was sniffed one last time and walked into the darkness beyond the tree line.

  Chapter 28

  Jonah stood at the side of the road, staring down at the carcass of the dog that lay in the gutter. The unfortunate creature had been dead for at least a week, and the stink was almost unbearable, but he forced the smell from his mind as he looked up at the stretch of ground beyond the corpse.

  The area had once been a group of buildings, all facing into a single open plaza, but the ground in between was cracked and broken, and most of the dozen buildings consisted of little more than the crumbling ruins of the ground floor and a single tall spire at the far end of the plaza where a square building still stood three stories high.

  Disease from dead carcasses and a potentially dangerous building collapse were not high on the list of qualities Jonah had in mind for the spot where he would want his people, and those of the other clans of Wytheville, to spend their winter. He had hoped for much better. They had arrived almost two whole weeks earlier than they normally would, and he had expected most of Eliz to still be empty. Not so. It seemed that everyone had decided to leave early this year.

  Three of the scouts stood just a few feet away, talking to Gunney and Solomon. Neither of the older men looked any more impressed with the area than
he was.

  “There’s a bit of clearing that needs to be done before we can use the place,” Declan said. “Three bodies of the long dead are in that far building. Looks like an illness took them. And there are rats in a couple of the buildings—a nest, I think, somewhere—but we can clear those out in a few hours.”

  “Dead, you say?” Jonah asked, as he stepped past the corpse of the dog and walked toward the center of the crumbling plaza.

  “Yes,” said Declan. “I think they must have gone there a while ago and not come out.” The young man looked toward the largest building in the corner of the plaza. “No wounds on them, or anything like that, so they probably died hidden away and no one bothered to move them. No one probably even knew they were there.”

  “And this is the best spot you found?” Jonah asked, looking toward an alleyway that ran between two of the buildings. There were piles of rubbish leaning against the walls on either side, and Jonah could see bones in among the debris. The vacant space seemed to have been used as a dumping ground—probably for at least a few months.

  “I...err...well,” Declan stammered before falling silent.

  Jonah turned to him. “I wasn’t blaming you,” he said. “No need to worry on that.”

  The boy looked relieved, but his cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment.

  Sensing this, Jonah put his hand on Declan’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Honestly,” he said. “You did well to find even this place, but we can’t stay here.”

  “I’d hoped to find better,” Declan said, still looking at the ground. “But all the good grounds are already taken, even though we’re here maybe two weeks early. Looks like a lot of the clans are coming early.”

  “We can’t live here for the whole winter,” said Jonah.

  Declan looked up at that, his expression changing from shame to concern. “Then where?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jonah. “And it’s not for me to decide, anyway. But The Elk won’t camp in this filth.” He kicked aside a pile of rags lying on the ground at the edge of the path and cringed as a pile of maggots spewed out of the cloth and scattered across the ground. “It would be like asking for sickness.”