The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  He threw the coiled rope across the chasm. The coils loosened as they flew through the air, landing in a clump to Rav’s left. The man reached out and grabbed it before another shake lifted the earth on both sides of the crevasse. The force knocked Declan and Ghafir backward. They tumbled over each other and rolled down the pitched ground. The rope tightened around their waists and it became taut where it stretched up and over the edge of the cliff, now at such a sharp angle that they would not be able to climb it or see over it to the other side.

  “Do you think he has hold?” Ghafir asked.

  Declan tugged at the rope, feeling tension but unable to make a visual confirmation either way.

  “Of the rope,” Declan said with a smirk, “or his flask?”

  Chapter 41

  Declan tugged at the rope again, and this time it went slack. He pulled harder and more rope came to him. He turned with his eyes wide and looked at Ghafir.

  “I can’t feel anything on the other end,” Declan said.

  The rope tensed with three short tugs.

  “What’s taking so long?” Rav asked, his voice carrying up from the chasm as the shaking ceased.

  Ghafir flipped Declan a grin. They both held the rope tight in their hands, neither knowing exactly what to do next.

  “How much give you got on the end?” Declan asked Ghafir.

  “Thirty, forty feet.”

  Declan looked down at the coiled slack at their feet and used his chin to nod at a tree twenty feet behind them. It stood at a forty-five degree angle, roots pulled from the earth.

  “Will it hold?” Ghafir asked.

  “It should,” Declan said. “My fingers are getting numb. Take the end and tie it up while I dig in.”

  Ghafir slowly dropped his hands from the rope and Rav’s weight yanked Declan up the earthen incline toward the chasm. He stumbled and pulled back hard.

  “Hurry up.”

  Ghafir ran the rope to the tree, circled it and tied the rope in a knot. Declan sighed and fell to his knees. He looked at the rope where it lay slack on the ground.

  “Rav?” Declan asked, yanking at the rope and feeling no tension.

  He crawled on all fours up the wall of pitched earth. When he got to the top, Declan followed the rope down into the crevasse. Rav stood on a solid rock outcrop, a hunk of granite that was too stubborn to be shaken loose by the earthquake. He had his back to the wall of earth and looked up at Declan.

  “What are you waiting for, boy? Get me the hell off this thing!”

  Declan turned and yelled at Ghafir. “On three,” he said.

  Rav checked the rope, now tied around his waist, and grabbed it with both hands. He winked at Declan.

  “One, two, three.”

  Ghafir and Declan pulled at the same time. The rope slid down the embankment and Rav came up the chasm wall. He clawed at the dirt with his hands to quicken his ascent. They pulled the rope in rhythmic, measured movements, and within moments, Rav was able to swing his leg over the edge of the crevasse.

  “Fuck,” Rav said, lying down and gasping for air. “Let’s get off this damn thing.”

  Declan slid down the embankment on his rear end, and Rav followed. Ghafir untied the rope from the tree and the three of them walked in silence for several minutes until the earth began to flatten and the embankment they were on looked like a new mountain lording over them.

  “At least we’re on the right side,” said Ghafir.

  “What do you mean?” Declan asked.

  “Eliz side. Depending on how wide and how far that new canyon now stretches, ain’t nobody going north or west.”

  Rav rubbed a hand through his beard. He reached into his rags, his hands fumbling across his body and his face going white.

  “My flask,” he said in a whisper.

  “I have some water,” Ghafir said.

  “Fuck water,” Rav said. He turned and looked at the rift in the earth. “Goddamn thief! You stole my rye!”

  While Rav threatened the earth, Declan climbed a nearby tree, this one’s roots still firmly planted. He pulled himself up, one branch at a time, and in a matter of moments was forty feet in the air.

  Declan stared across the plains toward the mountain where the plume remained, pulsing and shifting on the horizon. The clouds hung low and gray, and a steady breeze blew over the land. A dozen jagged black lines cut through the earth, stretching all the way to the hills. Declan looked down at the one that had tried to swallow them all. It was at least ninety feet wide, and as he gazed outward, Declan realized that the shell of the earth in the lands of Eliz had cracked like an egg. The lines crossed each other and, in some places, steam escaped from the bowels of the earth.

  “Not good,” Declan said, tossing his words down to his friends below. “Looks like there are chasms running to the horizon, both to the north and to the west.”

  “Jonah needs to know,” Ghafir said to Rav. “We’ll be heading west, soon. At least we should have been.”

  Declan turned east and saw the flat tops of the ruins at Eliz. They looked like hunks of slate sitting atop the trees. He stared hard and then realized why they caught his eye.

  “There’s something else.”

  “Quit being coy, little fella,” said Rav. “What do you see up there?”

  “It’s Eliz,” Declan said, turning his face down to Ghafir and Rav. “I remember the outline of the ruins, the shape of it on the horizon, when we first came here. Some of the ruins that used to be there, are, well…gone.”

  Chapter 42

  Ghafir tucked a handful of pine leaves into the bottom of the fire pit. Rav watched as Declan used his teeth to rip into a hunk of salted squirrel.

  “That shit’s gonna smoke. Make my eyes water,” Rav said.

  “It’ll help mask the boy’s breath.”

  Rav chuckled at Ghafir’s joke as Declan continued chewing, uninterested in defending himself.

  “Won’t be his breath we’ll have to contend with in the morning,” said Ghafir.

  Rav smiled at the man. There was something about the hunter that Rav found endearing. He had a dry sense of humor that was just beginning to surface. Rav couldn’t imagine what could have led to Ghafir becoming nameless. He was a nomadic wanderer, in both the physical world and in terms of his identity. He didn’t believe Ghafir would ever tell him the whole story, and Rav decided he didn’t care all that much. Ghafir was a good man, and despite his penchant for grotesque squirrel burps, so was Declan.

  “Eliz,” Declan said, swallowing a huge strip of meat. “Will it stand?”

  “Everything will fall, eventually,” said Rav. “It always does.”

  Ghafir leaned back as the pine kindling caught alight. The needles snapped and popped, releasing their tart fragrance into the cool night air. The ground rumbled and the men looked at each other in silence until it passed.

  “I think we should—”

  “Settle down there, you romper,” Rav said, interrupting Declan. “I’ve had a long day, and I’ve lost my flask. They’ll be plenty of time for shoulds in the morning. Tonight, I want to kick back at the fire and pretend I’ve still got my fire water.”

  “Here,” Ghafir said.

  He handed Rav a flask. It was dented and marred with black streaks with a lid that sat crookedly on top. Rav raised an eyebrow and took it from Ghafir’s hand.

  “Damn. I sure hope it tastes better than it looks.”

  Ghafir snatched it back from Rav, his hand flashing through the air. “You shouldn’t lower your standards.”

  Cheeky bastard , Rav thought. “What standards?” he asked, taking the flask back from Ghafir.

  Rav flipped the top off of it and took a swig. The liquid burned his tongue and it smelled like old gasoline salvaged from the carts.

  “God damn,” said Rav. He wiped his mouth with his right forearm. “Tastes like shit.”

  “Since when does the taste of a flask matter?” Ghafir asked.

  Declan leaned back and grinned. />
  Rav shook his head, took another swig and tossed the flask back to Ghafir.

  Something in the darkness snapped and all three men turned their heads. Declan stared, while Ghafir and Rav both grasped their axes from the ground beside them. They waited, holding their breath and their eyes searching the night but seeing nothing.

  “An animal?” Declan asked.

  Rav shook his head at the kid. In all of his years guarding the pass at the summit, Rav had developed an ability that he was not comfortable talking about. Sounds and smells would trigger a biological response and tune him into whatever human was attempting to approach without notice. Rav couldn’t explain it and his comrades tried hard to learn from him, but there was no technique—no strategy. Once Rav felt the presence of a threat, his mind became singularly focused until it materialized or drifted away.

  He looked at Ghafir and read the man’s eyes.

  Someone’s been tracking us. We’re being watched.

  “Break camp,” Rav said, his eyes never leaving the darkness.

  “But we—“

  “Now, Declan.”

  Ghafir had already tied up his bedroll and slid one of his pack’s straps over his left shoulder. Rav spat into the dirt and growled before rolling up his bedroll as well. “Fucking shit.”

  Another snap, and now Rav and Ghafir were on their feet with Declan scrambling for his axe.

  “They’re coming. Let’s go. We’ll follow the crevasse back to the plains.”

  Neither man argued, and so Rav jogged out of the camp, leaving their fire to burn itself out. He pushed through the high grass and identified the tops of the tallest ruins in Eliz. Rav knew they’d have to walk through most of the night and the next day, and he hoped whoever had been tracking them was doing recon and not setting up an ambush. Rav wanted to confront the unknown enemy, and demand an explanation, but he knew it would be too risky. They needed to get out of their vulnerable position as soon as possible.

  “You lead,” Ghafir said.

  Rav hopped over a downed tree and headed southwest. The split earth would pose a challenge in the daylight and yet they were going to attempt to navigate around it at night. Rav considered the alternative and decided the risk was worth it. They needed to get back and tell Jonah about everything—the threat from beneath the earth and the one watching them from the darkness.

  * * *

  The three men ran in silence for most of the night. Rav stopped several times to allow Ghafir and Declan to drink. Each time they stopped, Rav stared back into the black void. He had felt pursuers in the dead of the night, but as they approached dawn, and reached within a half-day’s hike of the plains surrounding Eliz, Rav felt their presence slip away with the cool night air. He pushed Ghafir and Declan anyway, not wanting to risk another surprise.

  They continued for several more hours until they recognized members of the Elk on the plains. A ravine—not nearly as wide or as deep as the one that had tried to kill Rav—ran all the way across the plains and headed toward Eliz like lines of a cracked mirror. Children played in the rift, hopping over it and pulling worms from the soil.

  Rav led them into the camp, where Jonah stood with elders from the Council surrounding him. All of the men shouted at each other, waving and gesturing with their hands. Rav approached, and when Jonah turned, he saw lines of worry on the leader’s face.

  “The plume?” Jonah asked, without a greeting or salutation.

  “Never made it,” said Rav. “The earth. What you see here is nothing compared to the rift out there.”

  Declan and Ghafir stepped up on each side of Rav, standing silently as if to support the man and his declaration.

  “Have you seen what’s happened here?” Jonah asked.

  The elders stopped bickering and all eyes turned to Rav. “I see disturbances in the earth, but they are not—”

  “No,” said Jonah. “Not right here. Eliz. Have you seen what’s happened there?”

  Rav shook his head and his hand went to the pocket that used to hold his flask.

  My goddamn fucking flask , he thought.

  “They’re coming, Rav. All of them.”

  Rav recalled the presence in the forest and his mind began to race with dire, dark possibilities.

  “Who is coming?” he asked.

  “All of Eliz,” said Jonah. “The ruins have been shaken and some are coming down. The refugees are coming, and we’re directly in their path.”

  Chapter 43

  Keana moved through the camp, heading quickly for the far end where the row of carts backed toward the open plains to the west, away from the river. In her hands she carried a bundle of dried sticks gathered from further downstream. She frowned as she passed the center of the camp where Jonah was standing, talking to his inner group—the “inner circle,” Leta called it—but Keana didn’t wait to overhear what they were talking about.

  Whatever it was, Jonah didn’t look pleased.

  She moved through the throng of busy people with purpose, focused on reaching the spot that Leta called home. It was, in Keana’s opinion, the nicest spot in the entire camp, even though it had been moved outward three times already. First it had been next to the river, but as new folks joined the Elk and moved into the camp, swelling their numbers almost every day, the camp had to grow to accommodate. And so she had helped Leta move first twenty yards from the river, then forty, and now, finally—and Leta insisted it was final—they had snuck it back toward the river and only ten yards from the running water.

  Keana found the older woman where she expected her to be, at the back of her cart, but today Leta seemed busy, and Keana frowned as she watched the woman covering the inside of the outer metal panel with rags of cloth.

  “What are you doing?” Keana asked, and she cringed when the older woman jumped.

  “Girl, you nearly drew me out of my skin,” Leta snapped, but then she smiled. She enjoyed the younger woman’s company, and she was glad to have her around to help. “I’m putting extra covers between the outside and my stuff. With all this talk of refugees coming this way, we could end up with hundreds of them camped out near here, and I’m not getting robbed by some little squirt with hands tiny enough to reach through the gaps.”

  Keana frowned. “You think there will be that many?”

  “Hundreds,” said Leta. “Maybe thousands, if the rumors are correct. They will leave in droves, now that the ruins aren’t safe, and they all have the skitters.”

  Keana shook her head. “I don’t understand. So a couple of older buildings went down. It’s not like the whole city has fallen, and there’s not many buildings still standing there, anyway.”

  “They’ll have felt it as though the worst of the rumble was under the very city itself,” said Leta. “It’s put the skitters up all of them, and as soon as a few start to leave, the rest will panic and follow.”

  “You think that?” Keana asked. “Crazy.”

  “You mark me, child,” Leta said. “There will be a thousand or more of them out here soon, and they’ll want to know why the hell the Elk weren’t in the city. Some will even think that the Elk knew it was coming.”

  “What does that mean for us?” Keana asked, perching on the back of the cart and watching Leta as she tied more rags to the back of the metal panel that protected the outside of the cart.

  “It means keep your knife with you and stay in the camp,” Leta said. “It means possible trouble.”

  “You think there’ll be a fight?” Keana asked, her eyes worried.

  “Possibly,” said Leta. “But you don’t have to worry about that. Have you seen how big this clan has grown, these last few months?”

  Keana looked across the camp from the back of the cart and realized that she could only just make out the carts at the far end. And there were so many faces that were only just becoming familiar.

  “It’s grown to triple, maybe more, of what we walked into Eliz with, three months ago,” Leta said. “Must be five hundred Elk now, and a
t least three hundred of those are warriors—more, maybe. Your pa has been clever. Those coming in and joining us are becoming Elk, not just allied to the Six Clans. There’s nearly no clan on the whole of the eastern coast or the forest that could stand against the Elk, with any hope to beat them, now.”

  Keana shook her head. She hadn’t really considered the clan’s growth since it took up place on the plains instead of going into the city. The result of which, it seemed, was the rapid swallowing of countless small hunter-gatherer families and smaller clans. Word of what happened with the Bluestone, Harpeth and the Valley clans had spread fast.

  “I heard a rumor yesterday,” Leta said, her voice low so as to not alert anyone nearby. “That the Wytheville elders asked Jonah to stand as Chief of All and that he didn’t say yes or no.”

  Keana frowned. “I don’t know that term,” she said.

  “It’s a T’yun term. It was the name of the leader of all the T’yun clans, and it hasn’t been used since the T’yun went to civil war and collapsed.”

  “But my dad wouldn’t want to bring that back,” said Keana. “Would he?”

  “Want or not, he’ll probably consider it,” said Leta. “Best way to secure the safety of your family—and the clan— is to be the biggest and the most dangerous. And your father seems to have landed him the ability to attract followers like he was a fresh pile of dung for the flies. You need to arm yourself, girl.”

  “Why?” Keana asked. “I have my knife.”

  “Because you’re the only daughter of the most powerful clan leader in Eliz. Someone will either want your hand in marriage or they could try worse, try taking you off.”

  Keana looked troubled at this remark.

  “Don’t make yourself sick with worry over it. You just stick with me,” said Leta. “I’ll keep an eye out for you. We’ll look out for each other, eh?”

  Chapter 44

  The bitter cold winter breeze blew through the clearing, buffeting The Brother and the other wolves as they crouched near the tree line.