The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  “More grumbles,” he said to the Nikkt leader, although he was sure the Valk understood as well.

  Before the Nikkt leader could respond, the Valk turned and fled. Some ran past Jonah and toward the hole where the Nikkt warriors waited, while others turned and stumbled deeper into the recess of the underground tube. After just several seconds, Jonah and the Nikkt leader stood alone inside the man-made cavern.

  Jonah turned and, with his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness, he saw a large patch of ground covered with small white mushrooms that seemed to possess a light of their own.

  “Is that it?” he asked.

  The Nikkt leader spun off of Jonah’s back and stood at his right side. “Yes. Quickly, grab some before the earth seals this tunnel forever. It has happened in Eliz and taken souls with it.”

  Jonah moved swiftly to the mushroom patch and used his knife to cut a few handfuls away, stuffing them into a rag tied to his waist. Then the two men hurried back out of the tunnel, hoping they would not meet the Valk on the way back.

  Outside, back in the sun, Jonah took a deep breath and sighed, relieved. Why the hell he was risking his neck, for the old man, he didn’t know, but it would keep the council happy if Corrun survived. It would keep the other clans happy, too.

  “Thank you,” Jonah said, turning to the Nikkt and extending his hand.

  The Nikkt leader shook it. “Make sure the old man eats a dozen of them, even if they do taste foul. Another dozen tomorrow. That should do the trick.”

  Jonah watched as the Nikkt leader turned and leapt over debris, rejoining his men.

  “I consider you a friend of the Elk, even though you will not tell me your name,” Jonah called after him.

  “You may have earned the opportunity to hear it, although that will not happen today. We will meet again, friend.” said the Nikkt leader.

  Jonah smiled, and the man turned, jogging away without giving him an opportunity to reply.

  “Will we?” Jonah asked the open plains.

  Chapter 52

  Jonah hurried back along the road as more refugees slid by on each side. With his back hunched, and the lines of worry etched on his face, he could have been mistaken for one of them.

  “Jonah.”

  He turned to his left, looking around, finally spotting Corrun’s carrier, his arm waving.

  “How is the old man?” Jonah asked.

  “Stable. Is this the medicine?”

  Jonah handed the rag sack to the carrier and turned toward Corrun’s tent. “I should go talk to him.”

  The carrier disappeared in the flow of refugees while Jonah pulled back the flap of Corrun’s tent.

  “It’s a miracle they didn’t rob and stab you.”

  “Shut the fuck up, old man. Listen to me.”

  Corrun’s eyes flickered, and he shivered. His lips moved but no words came out.

  “I know you’re sick and old. Those things loosen men’s lips. But I will not have you questioning my leadership, whether that be in public or private. I just crawled from the belly of the earth, where ghostly men live, in order to get you a cure that would keep you alive to Wytheville. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? We’ll find a cart that your carrier can lie you on, and then it’s up to him to drag you all the way back.”

  Corrun nodded and Jonah continued.

  “Quit your complaining. I’m leading the Six Clans out of here, and I will not tolerate your bullshit along with it.”

  Corrun coughed and his mouth curled. The cough turned into a wheezy giggle that then gave way to laughter. “Aye, Jonah. I reckon I’ve been somewhat of a pain in your ass.”

  “You have,” Jonah said, a smile creeping upon his face. He looked at Corrun’s scars and the way the man’s knuckles knotted from decades of hand-to-hand combat. “You’ve earned the right to be a pain in the ass but not mine any longer. Save it for Solomon and Gunney,” Jonah said with a wink.

  The carrier thrust his head inside the tent. “Jonah. Declan is here. He wants to see you.”

  Jonah put a hand on Corrun’s shoulder and the old man wiped a tear from his eye.

  “Go,” said Corrun. “Lead the people. Your people.”

  Jonah’s hand clapped twice on his shoulder before he walked through the flap to where Declan waited for him.

  “They just keep coming. How many lived in Eliz?”

  “I don’t know, Declan. But we must go. Soon.”

  “The refugees are not stopping to talk or trade. They just keep walking.”

  “I know,” said Jonah. “I wonder if they know where they’re going.”

  Declan shrugged and looked at the road leading out of Eliz. Refugees dotted the crumbling asphalt for as far they could see in each direction.

  “Send word that the Elk is leaving the plains of Eliz. The other clans are coming with us.”

  Declan nodded and turned toward camp. Ghafir pushed through a clump of refugees to cross the road and approach Corrun’s tent.

  “You could stay,” he said to Jonah.

  “I understand why your people would, but we cannot. I’ve seen the Valks…”

  Declan looked at Jonah, his eyes wide. Ghafir waved at the air with his right hand. “The Nikkt are weak. They are scared of their own shadow.”

  Jonah saw the eyes floating in the darkness of the tunnel and felt a shiver run up his back. “It doesn’t matter whether the Nikkt are weak or not. The Elk and the other clans are leaving. It’s time for us to head home.”

  “Please reconsider, Jonah. Once the refugees pass, the earth will settle and then we will all have more space.”

  “You don’t know if the earth will settle or if there will be anything left on which to live. No, I cannot risk the Elk. We’re heading back to Wytheville, and there I will decide what to do next.”

  “But Jonah—”

  “You heard him,” Declan said, interrupting Ghafir. “We’re leaving.”

  “Do not get angry so much, young one.” Ghafir said with a grin. “I merely attempt to keep you all here.”

  “I know, but we must move now. There is too much to do and not enough time,” Jonah said, turning to Declan. “Take a warband. Lead them back to the ravine. Take notes of where the earth has split and where it is passable. I need to know if there is a safe crossing to get back to the road to Wytheville. Go now.”

  Declan looked at Ghafir and then bowed to Jonah. Once the boy was off on his errand, Jonah turned to Ghafir. “He is young,” Jonah said.

  “And he has a temper that could lead to his death,” said Ghafir. “You must calm it somewhat or teach him to keep it for battle.”

  “Understood,” Jonah said, carefully stepping around the man’s wounded pride. “I will speak to him.”

  “I will need to speak to my brothers, but the plains have always been our home. I do not know if they will want to leave to come with you.”

  “As much as I’d hoped you would, I didn’t think you would come with us. But at the same time, you realize why we must go,” Jonah said.

  “Do you really think you can safely get back to Wytheville? Do you think the road will still be passable?”

  Jonah shook his head and smiled at Ghafir. “If not, we will be competing for the same game on these plains.”

  Ghafir nodded. “Whether my kin will travel with you or not, I will go with your scouting party and see if the way is still clear. Maybe stop the boy from getting himself killed.”

  Chapter 53

  Seren ducked under the limbs of the oak tree standing at the edge of the road. It’d been two days since she had caught the deer, and on both mornings, after she awoke, she’d noticed more of the snow had thawed. There had also been no snowfall during that time.

  That morning, when she stood outside breathing in the cold air, she’d noticed a thin stream of water running across the gentle slope in front of the house, heading toward the steeper slope at the edge of the clearing.

  It’s not as cold, she’d thought. There was not
so much of a chill any more.

  She’d heard a familiar sniffing noise from behind her, and she turned to see Sorcha at the corner of the building.

  Seren smiled. “It’ll be time to leave soon,” she said, and Sorcha replied with another sniff. “The snow is thawing. The weather will become warm again, soon.”

  That had been two hours before, and now the pair stood at the edge of the road, having followed the path all the way up the hill and through the forest. Seren was surprised how long it had taken to climb the hill. She didn’t recall it being that long a journey down through the forest path, when she first discovered the house, but it had taken nearly an hour to finally reach the road.

  They stood underneath the tree, watching the water dripping from its branches, and Seren saw that the road itself was becoming more visible, the snow melting in large chunks.

  “Maybe we leave it a few more days,” Seren said and turned to where Sorcha sat at her side. The wolf seemed like she was about to answer, but then her head whipped to one side, and she crouched low, a quiet but deep growl in her throat.

  Seren’s eyes went wide with surprise, and she stepped back, finding cover behind the tree.

  “What is it?” she asked, and Sorcha answered with another growl as she backed into the tree line to hide behind a bush. Seren followed, crouching low, half of her covered by the bushes and the other by the lower ground.

  She saw them as they first appeared through the mist, maybe five hundred yards away. The entire area south of where they hid was misted and foggy, but it was gradually clearing, and the first of the warband appeared through the fog, jogging along the road at a pace that Seren thought she would not be able to keep for long, but as she watched, a dozen other figures appeared through the mist, all of them together. Within two minutes they had passed Seren and Sorcha’s hiding place, and Seren was relieved that none of the figures noticed her.

  But these newcomers confused her. She had never seen anyone dressed the way they were.

  Are they warriors from the F ive C lans? she wondered. No, she had seen all of the Wytheville clans over the years, and many of the people of the forest clans and this side of the mountains. None of them had appeared like these.

  These were strangers. They wore long coats, which swung out behind them, and thick, dark fur of a kind that she had not seen. Or had she? Maybe it was bear fur? She had once seen a bear in the forest. It had been at a great distance, but she had seen it clearly enough to think that maybe the fur the warriors wore was the same color.

  But bears were rare and all of these warriors wore the same dark colored fur.

  And the masks? What were they? Large round eyes staring out of them like pools of dark water. There was one of those masks hanging on the wall of the chieftain’s hut, back at the home village in the forest, wasn’t there? A decoration. An ornament of the ancient world. It looked the same, with its strange, round, protruding nose.

  But most of these warriors wore them.

  Then the warband passed out of sight, heading south.

  South , she thought. In the direction that Gaston and Roke had gone.

  “I think we should probably stick to traveling in the woods, not far from the road’s edge,” she said quietly to Sorcha. The wolf huffed in response, and Seren took that to be a yes.

  Chapter 54

  Keana followed the old woman past the worried mothers tying weathered packs to the carts. She stepped over smoldering camp-fires and past the pits of animal bones and human waste. She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but her mother and father had been adamant that she gather her things and prepare to leave the lands of Eliz.

  All of the time and hardship to get here and now we must leave again.

  A child thin enough to be whisked away by a gentle wind looked at Keana, his face covered in grime streaked clean by tears.

  “Hurry, girl,” Leta said from several yards ahead. “I want to see what’s coming out of the ruins.”

  Keana left the boy in the dirt and skipped ahead until she was walking next to the old woman. “The ground keeps shaking. When will it stop?”

  “How should I know?” Leta responded with her own question. “I want to see what there will be left to scavenge once the refugees abandon Eliz. Oh, the treasures…”

  Keana smirked and looked at Leta’s hands as they walked. She saw the wrinkled years on the woman and the black lines beneath her fingernails.

  They walked another fifteen yards until they came to the outer edges of the Elk camp, where the clansfolk had lined the perimeter with carts. Men and women, some with children on their backs, walked past on the other side. Some looked into the Elk’s camp but most kept their heads down and their feet moving.

  Leta sighed and smiled at those brave enough to make eye contact with her. Keana noticed the woman’s gesture and it caused her to smile as well.

  “Do you know them?” she asked Leta.

  “Know them? I was them, child. Until your father brought me into the Elk, I was staggering through ruins like them. A part of nothing. Empty. Your father is a special man.”

  Keana rolled her eyes and then her face flushed red. She was of the age where she both admired her father and was embarrassed by her parents, often in the same moment.

  As they stood watching the people leaving Eliz, walking past the walls of the camp, a child approached. Like the Elk boy Keana had just seen inside the walls, this boy was nothing but a wisp. His eyes fixed on hers, and she saw the gaunt draw of hunger on his face. Keana reached beneath her cloak and felt a hunk of dried squirrel she had been saving for later. She took it out and held it over the cart wall so the boy could reach it.

  “Here,” she said as he approached.

  Keana felt a crisp burn on her wrist and she dropped the dried meat to the ground. She heard the smack before her brain had understood someone had slapped the food from her hand.

  A woman stood before her, hair thin and eyes wide. She pulled the boy to her hip and swung him so that her body was now between them. “Do not touch my child.”

  Keana took two gulps of air and shook her head, one hand rubbing the red skin on the other where the woman had slapped her. She bent down and picked up the piece of meat and shoved it back beneath her cloak.

  “He looked hungry. I wanted to—”

  “You brought this to us,” the woman said, interrupting Keana. “Your cursed people brought the grumbles, and now Eliz is falling. I hope the Valks eat your face.”

  “The girl meant no harm,” Leta said. “She just offered your child a morsel to eat.”

  The woman’s face softened and she did not push the child away when he swung his body back around to smile at Keana.

  “Please let him have it,” Keana said to the mother. “He looks so hungry.”

  The woman’s shoulders dropped, and she closed her eyes. Without another word, she nodded.

  Keana held out the meat to the boy. He took it and shoved the dried squirrel into the corner of his mouth, tearing at it with his rear molars.

  “Why are you leaving?” Leta asked.

  Keana thought that seemed like a stupid question, and she expected the woman to explode again. She looked around and noticed that the stream of refugees passing now were almost entirely women and children. Some paused to look at the conversation on the wall, but most kept moving on the road out of Eliz.

  “The earth is angry. It shakes. And when it does, the ruins come down and the Valk rise up.”

  Keana felt a pit form in her stomach, and the sight of the boy gnawing on the squirrel made her nauseous.

  “Tell me,” Leta said to the woman.

  “Eliz has always had them, much like the rats that scurry below ground during thunderstorms. The Valk usually stay hidden in the shadows of the old tunnels.”

  Leta leaned forward, and Keana forgot about the boy and the dried squirrel meat.

  “But when the grumbles come, the Valk are shaken from their nests.”

  “What are they?�
�� Keana asked. “Are they monsters?”

  “I don’t know,” said the woman.

  Leta looked around at the other women and children gawking at their meeting.

  “Tell us what happened. Please,” Keana said.

  The woman looked at Jonah’s daughter and the woman’s initial fear gave way to sorrow. “The Valk. They took the men. Our warriors.”

  “How?” Keana asked. She imagined her father being attacked by the creatures, and she could not imagine him surrendering. “Where did they take them?”

  “Into the earth. Down below.”

  Leta bristled at the thought and then reached over the wall to put her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

  “Please stay. This is Keana,” Leta said, nodding at Keana. “She is the Elk chief’s daughter.”

  The woman smiled but Keana could tell from her facial expression that she did not know who her father was or how important he could be.

  “He won’t protect a decimated clan without warriors. We wouldn’t, if the situation was reversed.”

  “When he returns to camp, I will talk to my father,” said Keana. “He is a fair man.”

  The woman pulled her son to her and looked back at the road toward Eliz as another ruin fell to the ground.

  Chapter 55

  As Gaston continued to shovel dirt on Roke’s grave, his mind drifted to Seren. Was she lying dead as well, her body left exposed to rot? Gaston wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. The sweat broke on his skin, despite the chill biting through his cloaks. Some of the people stayed and stumbled around the site. Others walked back to their tents in silent tears.

  We have to leave. I have to leave.

  The thought chased the memory of Seren from his mind and distracted him from the loss of Roke. He had begun to like the boy, even though he was only as smart as a turkey vulture. Gaston flipped it over, examining the thought without giving in to his grief. There had been the time when a sickness came, when he had been but a child, that left his village in ruin. Then, like now, he had not contracted the sickness. His chest ached as he remembered walking amongst the dead, their eyes open and tongues hanging out. Gaston ignored the rise to anger with White Citadel, the fact that he had put all of his faith in the book and that he would have to leave this place. The memory of that summer pushed those thoughts aside, and Gaston found himself back in the body of the young boy he was so long ago.