The Parting of Ways

by J. Thorn

  The Thaw had finally come.

  The Thaw. The beginning of the new cycle. Everything begins with The Thaw and ends with The Freeze, he thought; except this cycle was different. Every year until this one he had stood on the hill behind their town, staring out across the great lake and watching as the ice began to break, revealing the waters that would provide fish.

  There was no lake here.

  Our hunters will have to learn to catch more game instead of fish, he thought, looking across the vast forest. So many trees, so many places for game to live. He had heard tales, and remembered some fact from his youth, about the abundance of the forests to the south. But the T’yun had lived there and no one went there.

  Until now.

  I’ve come full circle, he thought. Swore vengeance on them for all these years. Killed and out-maneuvered, just to get here. Years of fighting to unite the Cygoa clans, all to this end. To get us here.

  And now I rule over all the Cygoa.

  And soon the clans of the T’yun will start to return to their forests, looking for game, looking for the homes that were once theirs, expecting to return like they had every year after their damned migration. And now those places are mine. He smiled, knowing the fear that would come to the T’yun when they discovered their lands taken.

  Then maybe we will hunt them like they hunted our fathers, thought Morlan.

  Only the Coven and the ridiculous expedition to the south stood in his way. It had served his purpose to move the Cygoa south, but now he was here, they needed to be removed like every other obstacle he had faced.

  How to get rid of both? he wondered. How to rid myself of those foolish pixies that seem to instill fear in almost everyone. The south is sick. I know that. Everyone knows that. If I do as they demand , and lead the Cygoa south , I lose this chance to punish the T’yun, and I will be walking my people to their deaths.

  A cough behind Morlan startled him.

  “I’m sorry,” said Carlossa. “But you wanted to know when we received word from any of the scouts.”

  Morlan turned and regarded the young man standing next to Carlossa. The scout looked exhausted but was still alert enough to marvel at the view from the top of the tower.

  “What goes?” Morlan asked.

  The scout nodded. “My lord. I’ve been out to the east and back, ten days there and ten back, all the way out to where the rumbling in the mountains was.”

  “And what is it that disturbs the forests and the mountains?”

  The scout took a deep breath and continued. “There has been a great rumbling in the earth,” he said. “And the land has been sundered, split in two.”

  Morlan frowned. “What do you mean? A quake?”

  The Scout was nodding again. “Yes, my lord. A quake. The ground has split from high in the mountains, all the way down into the plains. A hundred miles long, at least. Other scouts are looking at the breach right now, heading along it to find the end, but I stood upon the low hills and saw that it went out into the southern flats and carried on for miles.”

  “I see,” said Morlan. A natural breach. A ravine. “How big? How wide?”

  “At least thirty yards.”

  “Not big enough for any standing bridges to cross it?” Morlan asked, scratching his beard. This could change things, he thought.

  The scout shook his head. “Only one bridge stands,” he said. “Well, only one we have found, and there are no other natural crossings.”

  Morlan began to pace the width of the tower. “There’s only one way to cross it? A bridge, you say?”

  “Yes, lord,” said the eager scout. “It’s one of the old blacktop bridges, the big metal ones. It fell, but now spans the gap. Looks stable enough.”

  Morlan turned to Carlossa. “How many warbands are on the way there?” he said, knowing his lieutenant would have already acted upon the news.

  “Two. One from the Newar clan, which is camped north of the Wythe, and one of the Echa clan. Both are loyal to you.”

  Morlan grinned. Yes. Both clans would follow him before they would listen to the Coven. “As always, you are wise beyond your years, my friend.”

  Carlossa nodded.

  “But I need this handled with absolute integrity,” Morlan said. “If it is the only way across this breach, then the T’yun will want to control it, and we can’t let that happen. Can you go yourself?”

  Carlossa was surprised; his leader was asking him rather than commanding him.

  “I don’t like sending you, my friend, and think I need you here, but this could be important,” Morlan said. “I can trust you to make sure it’s dealt with. Two more warbands should go with you. Loyal ones.”

  Carlossa didn’t miss the insinuation behind the words loyal ones.

  “Of course,” said Carlossa. “I will leave today.”

  “No,” said Morlan. “Leave in the morning.” He now stared southward along the road that led out of the Wythe and into the southern lands. Something in that direction had grabbed his attention; a group returned along the road. It was the warband he had sent south, to investigate the White Citadel. But why were they returning? Surely they couldn’t have reached it and returned so soon?

  Then he noticed that they had other people with them. Captives.

  “Go in the morning,” Morlan said. “I suspect that something interesting comes to us today.”

  Chapter 62

  “Where were you?” Jonah asked.

  “With Leta. Near the wall,” Keana said. “The refugees look so sad.”

  “I don’t want you near that. The people leaving Eliz—they are desperate.”

  Keana looked at her father as his hands moved in a blurred motion over the rawhide strings keeping his axe head attached to the handle. She smiled at Jonah but he kept his eyes on the task at hand.

  “Leta and I. We met someone. A woman.”

  Jonah stopped and looked up at his daughter. He shook his head and set the axe on the table. Keana turned her head sideways as a stiff wind blew the flap of the tent open. She heard the sounds of the Elk preparing to leave the plains of Eliz. Men shouted and women called out the names of children. The aroma of roasted venison brought with it a rumble to her stomach.

  We are always leaving somewhere , she thought.

  “I’m being primed,” Jonah said through a smile reserved only for a man’s daughter.

  “Her name is Neave. I think you should talk to her. She can help us.”

  “You get a sense of subtle nuance from your mother.”

  Keana continued, not sensing her father’s sarcasm. “She was in Eliz.”

  “All of the refugees were in Eliz, Keana. We can’t take them all in.”

  “Neave’s people are without men. They are just women and children, with no knowledge of warfare or weapons. Out there on the road…” She let her comment trail, knowing her father understood the unspoken implication.

  “We’re busy getting the Elk in motion. We have many more people now and therefore it takes longer. We simply cannot take a flood of refugees into our clan.”

  “She has a child. A boy. The other women have children, too.” Keana waited as Jonah leaned back in his chair and exhaled. The tent shook with another late-winter gust, and the activity in the camp seemed to escalate along with the coming storm. “At least speak to her, Father. Please.”

  “You are not to bring her into camp,” Jonah said. “Go with Leta and Declan to the wall and tell her to wait for me. I will give her five minutes. That is all.”

  Keana blushed and dropped her chin to her chest.

  “Oh, girl. You are such a spirited child. I swear, I don’t know what to do with you,” Jonah said. Then he smiled. “She’s already here, isn’t she?”

  The tent flap opened again, and this time Keana saw Neave standing off to the side.

  “Yes, Father. She’s outside the tent. I’m sorry.”

  Jonah growled. He stood up and walked over to Keana and gave her a hug. The odor of dried sweat and
meat clung to his cloak.

  “You stay here. It is best you begin to learn how to deal with those outside of your clan.”

  I am the one that brought her here , Keana thought. I know more than you think.

  “Come in,” Jonah said.

  Neave approached, and Keana held her breath. There was something magnetic about this woman, a slight pull and aura of safety surrounding her. Keana had felt it when Neave had stepped between them to protect her son. It felt motherly in a way that was uncommon. She promised herself she would spend more time with Neave if her father allowed them to stay.

  “I apologize if I have offended you—”

  “Sit,” Jonah said. “We don’t have time for pleasantries.”

  Keana stared at the dirt floor. She raised her eyes and quickly caught Neave’s attention, and the woman flashed her a momentary smile before turning her attention back to Jonah.

  “My daughter says you are a clan without men.”

  “We tan skins and trade them,” said Neave, ignoring Jonah’s statement. “At least we did before Eliz fell.”

  Keana waited for her father to banish her from the tent, to clear the conversation for the adults. When he did not, she sat up a bit straighter in her chair. Maybe he’s starting to understand that I’m not a kid anymore.

  “And now you walk with the other refugees.”

  “Yes, Jonah. That is true, along with everything else your daughter has told you about us. But there is more, something I did not share with her.”

  Keana looked from her father to Neave. Her eyes narrowed and she waited to hear what the woman had hidden from her when they spoke at the wall.

  “She told me you have no men in your clan.”

  “There is more,” said Neave. “Much more I did not feel comfortable sharing with her. But you are the leader of the Elk. You have brought clans together. They speak your name even on the streets of Eliz, a half-day hike from the plains.”

  She watched her father’s chest swell. He nodded at Neave. “I don’t need trappers or tanners,” he said. “What I need right now are people who can help with the carts. They need to be secured down and then pulled. It is grueling and we lose cart pullers every time we’re on the road.”

  Keana felt the wind kick up, as if the spirits could feel the tension. Neave had something to tell her father and yet Jonah was not listening.

  “That is fine. We will pull carts in exchange for your protection. But why have you not asked me about it?”

  “About what?” Jonah asked.

  “Our men. You have not asked me what has happened to our men.”

  “It is not my concern,” Jonah said. “They are not here. You are. We can’t afford to live in the past. Not even for a day.”

  “And the Valk? Are they in the past as well?”

  Keana saw the color fall from her father’s face. Jonah stepped toward Neave, his eyes wide and a whisper caressing his lips. “What of them?” he asked.

  “I promise that we will pull carts. And once we are safely on the road, with our children in tow, I will tell you what I know of the Valk and how they stole the menfolk of our clan.”

  Jonah nodded, and Keana grabbed Neave by the arm and pulled the woman out of the tent before her father could change his mind.

  Chapter 63

  The Nikkt leader shook off the last vestiges of the tunnel, brushing the gray dust from his shoulder. The old passageways and the artifacts left by the Valk constantly reminded him of the other worlds that existed right up against his own. These people—these creatures—lived beneath the earth like white demons from another time.

  The old truce between the Nikkt and the Valk had worn thin over the years, and a catastrophic event, like the one dropping Eliz to the ground, could bring it to a breaking point. He tried not to think of that scenario or what would happen if all of Eliz fell and the Valk decided it was their time to rise to the surface and come for the Nikkt. He had seen what they had done to other clans, snatching men and raping the women and children. His clan would not succumb to that barbarity. He would make sure of it.

  He pushed a branch down far enough to see the Elk camp but not enough to reveal his position. The morning air felt cool and damp, and for a moment, the Nikkt leader believed he was still below ground, where the dead air always felt that way. The sun had not yet risen to a height where it could sufficiently warm the land but winter’s grip had relented. The fields would be treacherous and muddy with the coming rains, and the Nikkt leader thought of the thousands of refugees escaping Eliz. Getting bogged down on the plains would make them easy prey for the Valk.

  Jonah’s wife and son stood behind the tribal leader as the man addressed his lieutenants. The Nikkt leader could not hear the conversation but understood just the same; they were leaving. He scanned their faces, and most held a grim certainty, as if this constant migration was something embedded deep into their cultural history. Unlike the Valk, who had burrowed into the subterranean remains of the lost people, Jonah and his clan had endlessly wandered like hungry spirits.

  He would have eventually known the Elk were leaving, but acting on a hunch meant he would see it for himself. The Nikkt leader had sent a man to remain fifty yards behind Jonah as the leader of the Elk walked back to the camp. Word returned to him that Jonah had, in fact, commanded the clan to leave.

  “He has a daughter. She is there, with the old woman.”

  The Nikkt leader followed his warrior’s eyes to where a young girl, a middle aged woman, a child and an elderly crone stood not far from Jonah. The middle-aged woman had a face he recognized and it took the Nikkt leader only a moment to realize that she was one of the widowed, a woman left beaten and alone after the Valk captured the clan’s men. She had traded hides in Eliz and he thought he had once purchased a skin from her in the city’s ancient marketplace.

  Most likely buried beneath five feet of rubble now , he thought.

  “Why are they here?” he asked his warrior.

  “Who?”

  “The clan is nothing but women and children,” said the Nikkt leader. “Are they going with the Elk to Wytheville?”

  “It would appear that way.”

  The Nikkt leader stared hard at the woman. He sensed a power in her—something subtle and yet unmistakable.

  Remember that face.

  “I want this camp,” he said. “As soon as their last cart is on the road, I want it. The filthy hunter clans will try to claim it. We should kill their leaders, if necessary.”

  The warrior nodded at the Nikkt leader.

  “I also want a scouting party on the Elk. On Jonah. Stay hidden and do not engage. But I want to know how far they travel each day until they are a week’s travel from these lands.”

  Before the warrior could recognize his leader’s command, a rustling came from the heavy brush to their right. The Nikkt leader froze. He looked up at the sky, the mid-morning sun sliding toward midday.

  Daylight. Impossible. They would never venture out during the day, would they?

  Another Nikkt warrior heard the rustle and within three seconds, the tight band of warriors had their battle axes drawn and collapsed into a circle around their leader.

  “They are here,” said a man.

  The Nikkt leader scanned the empty woods behind them. He gazed through the thin, scraggly trees, all the way to the river the Elk had been using as their own. A flash of gray cut across the charcoal bark of the trees.

  “They will not attack in daylight,” said the Nikkt leader. “They have been seen above ground during the day, but only moving in packs in order to ambush during the night.”

  He said the words and yet they did nothing to comfort his own fears. The Nikkt leader had spent time fighting the Valk in the tunnels and coming up to Eliz always represented a relief, a sense of safety and an opportunity for the Nikkt to fight them again another day. But if the Valk had become more brazen, since the grumbles dropped Eliz, that would give the Nikkt no respite from the filthy, repugnant
vultures.

  “Seems as though the collapse of Eliz has changed things.”

  The Nikkt leader snarled at his warrior but he knew the man was right. The scourge in the tunnels had now risen, determined to fight for whatever scraps of resources would be left whenever the earth stopped shaking.

  A low, hissing sound rose up from the river and floated through the trees. The Elk continued their preparations for departure, seemingly unaware of the threat looming on the outskirts of their camp. The Nikkt warriors buzzed, their weapons out and their eyes scanning the trees in anticipation of an attack. The Nikkt leader sighed, ready for whatever chaos the Valk had been preparing. For a brief moment, he considered ordering a retreat. They could flee back toward Eliz and let the Valk feast on the Elk clan, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t split their force and take his warriors as well as the Elk’s.

  As the Nikkt leader was about to speak, the hissing faded and the warriors saw the shadows of the Valk slither back into the confines of the deep woods. The Nikkt leader waited.

  “Are they gone?” his warrior asked.

  “They’re never gone,” the Nikkt leader said. “Only unseen.”

  Chapter 64

  Gaston stumbled forward but managed not to fall in the sludge. The snow was rapidly melting on the road, much faster than he had expected, and even the trees in the forest around them were filled with the quiet sounds of snow falling to the ground, as thick white crusts, which had sat upon the branches for weeks, now lost their grip and fell. It would do me no good to fall now, he thought. With his hands tied behind his back it would be difficult to stand again.

  And he’d seen, but ten miles back, what the Cygoa scouts were willing to do to those who could go no further. The man had been close to death anyway, Gaston told himself. He’d been riddled with sickness and no medicine that he knew of could have cured him, even if they had reached Wytheville.

  The cold had numbed one side of his face, and he could no longer feel his feet, but each step he took jarred the bones in his legs and reminded him that he was still standing—still alive—and still moving forward toward the inevitable. Would they kill him? The Coven would, if they had their way. There were few places that he was not exiled from, and the Coven had seen to it that the Cygoa lands were one of those places. But this was not his choice, now.