Guardians Watch

by Eric T Knight

  Shakre was tossing her head and moaning when Youlin said through gritted teeth, “We need help. She’s losing.”

  Nilus moved first, dropping to his knees and placing his hands on Shakre’s shoulders. The rest were right behind, kneeling around her and laying on hands. Last of all was Rehobim. His lip curled and he seemed about to refuse. Then with an oath he knelt and offered his strength up too. Hot wind and smoke swirled around the small band as they huddled there around the outsider woman who had come into their midst so many years ago. The ground screamed and stone melted, but they did not move. Gradually, Shakre’s shaking eased.

  Just before the wind got away, Shakre felt a new surge of energy race through her. It took her a moment to realize what had happened. More surges raced through her as the rest of the small band joined in. With her strength renewed she was able to take a firm grip on the wind. All at once she began to believe this might just work.

  It was time to take the leap. She wasn’t sure what would happen if this didn’t work. She would be torn away from her body, that much she was sure of. Would her body die right away or linger on? She had no idea, but it didn’t really matter. The time for caution had passed. There was time now only for action.

  Take me to them. Take me to my people.

  Still clinging to the wind, she released her hold on her body and, with a sudden, sharp shock the wind yanked her free and just like that she was spirit-walking. Briefly she saw her body from above, with the Takare gathered around her, and then she was racing upward at breathtaking speed, flying up above the smoke and chaos. Around her raced more aranti, crying out in their many voices, but she ignored them, focusing on keeping her grip on the one she rode. At the same time, she was trying to keep a hold on her body as well, but it was like trying to hold onto a thread while being swept away by a flood.

  Higher and higher they rose and with the strength she borrowed from the Takare she began trying to bend the will of her ethereal mount, to make it go north, towards Bent Tree Shelter. At first her efforts seemed to have little effect as the aranti fought her with manic energy. Again and again she thought she had it under control, only to lose her hold and end up just hanging on. But she was not a woman who gave up easily and she kept trying, until finally the aranti slowed and turned to her command.

  She looked down on the Plateau from a great height and at first she did not know where she was. Nothing looked familiar. The scene was apocalyptic. Huge cracks filled with lava rent the land and smoke billowed up from countless fires. It didn’t look like anyone could possibly still be alive down there.

  Then she saw something to one side and suddenly she knew where she was: the Godstooth. At least where the Godstooth used to be. The tall, white spire of rock that marked Tu Sinar’s resting place was simply gone, as were the lake and the protective stone walls. In their place was a crater filled with lava.

  From the crater great cracks radiated outwards in all directions, lava pouring down them, fires raging along their edges. As she watched, another explosion erupted from the depths of the crater, flinging stone and lava skyward. The wind bolted in fear and it was a few moments before she could get it under control once again.

  But now she knew where she was and she could find Bent Tree Shelter. She drove her mount south and west, crossing nightmare terrain that bore no resemblance to the land she and Shorn had crossed months ago. Briefly she wondered what had become of Shorn, but she dismissed the thought. He was not her concern. Her family was. With the wind’s speed it was only a short while before she reached her destination. She looked down and if she had had a voice she would have cried out in horror and pain.

  A huge crack ran through the heart of the village. Most of the simple huts had fallen into it. She looked for and found Elihu’s hut. It was perched right on the edge. The next tremor would topple it in.

  Her shock and pain were so great that she lost control of the aranti. Seizing its opportunity, the creature bolted and she tumbled wildly through the air.

  It was more difficult this time, but finally she was able to get the aranti under control once more. With a last look at the ruined village, she forced her mount southward, scanning every direction, telling herself they had to be out there somewhere, still alive.

  It took too long and she was beginning to despair when she caught a glimpse of movement along the edge of a wooded area. She forced the aranti to take her lower and her heart suddenly lifted. There they were, strung out in a line and moving slowly south. They were approaching another crack in the earth, this one stretching east to west for miles in either direction. The sides of the crack were steep, but there was no lava in it. The villagers could still cross it.

  Urging her mount higher, she scanned the southern horizon, trying to find familiar landmarks. Nothing looked familiar at first, but then she saw the low hills lying beside the broad barren and recognized the place where she and the others had stopped. Her heart lifted further. It was not far. The villagers were heading in the right direction. The forest between the two groups was burning, but the flames were dying down and she could see places where the fire, having used up all its fuel, had burned out altogether. It would be difficult, but they could make it through.

  When she looked back at the villagers though, she saw that they were stopped at the crack. Then they started to move east, clearly hoping to circle around it or find a place where it was easier to cross.

  When Shakre looked east, her heart fell. Molten rock was pouring down the crack.

  I made a mistake. We left too late.

  Over and over those thoughts came to Elihu as he led the survivors of Bent Tree Shelter across the Plateau. They should have left sooner and now it was probably too late. The Plateau had gone insane. The wildlife had fled. The ground was tearing itself to pieces. But for him, the worst was the plants. They thrashed, crying out in their strange voices of their fear and their pain, but they could not get away. They could only wait until fire or earth swallowed them.

  The unease Elihu had been feeling for days had begun to increase shortly after Rehobim led the fighters after the fleeing outsiders after they attacked the Shelter. By the next morning Elihu knew it had been a bad idea to let them go. The whole village should have gone. If he was honest with himself, he’d known for days that it was time to leave the Plateau.

  It had been in his heart a number of times to tell the others, but he’d ignored it. He’d said nothing, even as the moans and whispers of the plants grew ever louder. Even as he felt the poison that seeped up into the plants from below seeping into his own limbs, he’d told himself it couldn’t be that bad. He’d used the fact that he was still weak from his encounter with the poisonwood—when he would have died had not Shakre pulled him free of its grasp—to put off making the decision. He kept hoping that there was an answer, that they could save their land. But he should have known better. When the gods fought among themselves, people became insects whose only hope was to get out of the way.

  The outsiders’ attack had caught him by surprise. If not for the the huge, forbidding outsider, the one many called Taka-slin, he and everyone he called friend and family would have been killed. Maybe that was why he had stood by and said nothing when Rehobim gathered the young and the strong to chase down the outsiders. Maybe he wanted vengeance too.

  Near the end of the day yesterday, unable to continue ignoring the feeling of impending doom, Elihu sought out the other Walkers. Their numbers were sadly depleted. With Meholah’s death at the hands of the first band of outsiders—the day Jehu received the mark of Kasai on his forehead—the village had no Huntwalker. Sick and unable to rise off his bed, Asoken, the Firewalker, was killed by the outsiders in his home. That left only two Walkers besides Elihu. He found Intyr, the Dreamwalker, sitting on the ground near the edge of the village, staring into nothing. Her blue-dyed hair floated around her head in the wind. But no matter what he said to her, she did not respond. He did not know whether she walked her dreams, or if the shock of what had ha
ppened had bent her mind.

  That left Rekus. The Pastwalker started to shake when Elihu asked him what he thought they should do.

  “Why do you ask me?” His face twisted and his hands moved over his clothing, touching his face, pulling at his hair. He was a tall, thin man with long, gray hair. There was a haunted look in his eyes.

  “You are Pastwalker.”

  “There are no answers in the past.” Rekus tried to walk away, but Elihu would not allow him.

  “You are Pastwalker. It is your duty.”

  “And I belong in the past. I have nothing to offer my people.” Rekus was nearly yelling. Around them Takare were studiously trying to look away.

  “That is not true. You have guided us well for many years.”

  “Yet it was I who shouted that we should do nothing. I said the outsiders would not return. I was wrong and Takare died.”

  “We were all wrong. But that is the past.”

  “The past is all I know. I have no place in leading our people into the future.”

  So Elihu gave up on Rekus, left him pacing by the fire, talking to himself. He looked at the sky, felt the vibrations in the soles of his feet, listened to the plants.

  And decided to wait until morning.

  In the morning, strange clouds blew overhead. Animals raced by them, heading south. The plants tossed violently even though there was no wind. It was clear to Elihu that he had waited too long. Which was why the survivors, a ragged band of several dozen—mostly children, the sick and the elderly—now hurried through a worsening nightmare of smoke, fire and chaos.

  They followed the main trail south when they left the village. Not only was it the shortest route off the Plateau, but it was the way the warriors had gone and Elihu knew they would need to find them if they were to have any real hope of making it off the Plateau alive. They simply could not move fast enough. There were children and old people who would need to be carried. Without the other members of the village it was likely they would not make it halfway.

  They had not been walking long when the earth started to move under their feet. There were cries of fear and Malachy, the oldest man in the village, fell down. They stopped and Elihu helped Malachy up, daring to hope that there would be no more tremors, at least not that day. But shortly afterwards there was one even more violent. A tree toppled nearby, nearly striking Rekus, who hung near the back of the group, walking with his head down.

  Then came the boom of a mighty explosion to the north. Rekus looked up and into Elihu’s eyes; both knew where the explosion had come from. The Godstooth.

  “Faster!” Elihu cried. Lize and Ekna—two bent, elderly women, inseparable friends since their husbands had died during recent winters—were right behind him and he pointed them down the trail. Neither could see very well and they peered into the distance uncertainly, but they went willingly. He moved on back down the line of villagers, urging them to hurry as they passed. Yelis hurried by, clutching her newborn infant who was only three days old. At the end of the line was Rekus. He kept looking back over his shoulder at a growing cloud of ash and dust that was rising into the sky. His face had gone white and there was something in his eyes that told Elihu he was close to breaking. Rekus started to open his mouth to speak, but Elihu cut him off.

  “I don’t care!” he snapped, pushing in close to the taller man. “Right now I need your help getting these people out of here. Later you can blame yourself—if we’re still alive.”

  Rekus closed his mouth and hurried on after the others. Elihu was just turning to follow him when he saw movement back up the trail, in amongst some saplings. It was Jehu, the mark of Kasai dark on his forehead. Elihu had not seen him since the outsiders attacked the village and he had thought that maybe he’d followed the warriors when they left. Jehu was stick thin, his long hair hanging unbound and unwashed, his clothing in tatters. Since that fateful day when he was marked, the Takare generally left Jehu alone, lowering their voices when he was around. He was a wound that none knew how to heal, too painful to touch. More than once he had awakened the village during the night with his screams. Elihu turned back.

  “Hurry, Jehu!”

  Jehu froze, like a deer caught in the open. He seemed moments from fleeing, but Elihu didn’t give him a chance. He ran to Jehu, stumbling once as another tremor shook the ground, and grabbed his arm. Jehu tried to pull free, but Elihu tightened his grip.

  “Listen to me!” he cried. “I need you. Your people need you!”

  “You don’t understand,” the young man said. His eyes were very large in his face and he was trembling like a leaf. The burn on his forehead was red and inflamed. It looked like he had been clawing at it.

  “No, I don’t. But I understand that you are the only young man here. Get up there and help Malachy.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can. You’ve known that man your entire life. Look at him.” Malachy had paused and was leaning against a tree, breathing hard. “He won’t make it another hour without your help. Put down your self-pity and help him!”

  Jehu sagged all at once and quit trying to get free. “Okay,” he whispered.

  They stumbled on through a growing nightmare. Twice they had to leave the trail they were on and veer west, forced aside by sudden rents in the earth. As the day progressed it became harder and harder to make any headway. Some of the cracks they came across were filled with molten rock and the burning forests filled the air with choking smoke.

  It was afternoon when they came upon yet another crack in the earth, this one stretching east to west right across their path. There was no molten rock in it, but the sides were steep and the rock loose. Elihu hesitated and the ragged band of survivors came to a stop around him. There was no talking. Exhaustion was evident on their faces. Intyr had a burn on her arm and Ekna was bleeding from a cut on her leg. Rekus was limping badly. Elihu himself was having trouble. He had not fully recovered from the poisonwood venom and he had nausea and chills. He looked at them, and then down into the crack, where he saw broken bones waiting for them. He made a decision.

  “We will go around,” he announced. “It looks shallower to the east. There may be a better place to cross that way.” It did seem like the crack was smaller in that direction and it would be good to swing east for once, since it would send them more in the direction the warriors had gone.

  He took two steps east—

  And was struck by a gust of wind so hard he nearly fell down. Surprised, he peered about him, but saw nothing. He tried again.

  Again the wind struck him. But this time the pressure was sustained. It was like he was being pushed.

  “Maybe the other way,” he said, and turned around. He made his way past the group and started to follow the crack west.

  Again the wind came out of nowhere, throwing dirt in his eyes, pushing him back.

  All at once the realization hit him and he wondered at his own denseness. He smiled. “Shakre,” he said softly.

  He turned back. Closest to him were Lize and Ekna. Their faces were calm and trusting as they steadily returned his gaze.

  “Can you make it down there?” he asked, gesturing into the crack.

  They peered down through the smoke and Ekna coughed and rubbed her eyes. As one they shrugged. “We can only try.”

  To the others he said, “We will cross here. Yelis, you lead.” Though she carried a baby, she was young and strong. She would know how to pick a good route. Behind her followed Ekna and Lize and Elihu held each one’s arm in turn, guiding them over the edge and down.

  The wind gusted around him once more and he thought he heard voices, but the words were completely alien. “I know, I know,” he said. “We’re going.” The voices rose in pitch and intensity and he straightened, looking around. Then his eyes widened. “Hurry!” he yelled to the others. “We must go faster!”

  To the east the crack was filling with molten rock and it was coming their way.

  The sides were steep, the st
one loose. Yelis had not gone three steps before she dislodged a stone the size of her head that bounced crazily toward the bottom, taking others with it. This was crazy. It was impossible that they would be able to make it across without half of them getting injured. But they had no real choice.

  Slowly the survivors made their way across the crack. There were some falls, but somehow no one was injured badly. Last to cross were Jehu and Malachy, the young man providing a steady hand to help the old man over the worst spots. The molten rock had reached them by the time they arrived at the bottom. Jehu helped Malachy over the lava and the old man started up the far side. But then Jehu stopped, standing on a large rock and staring down as the lava began to spill around him. The villagers called his name but he ignored them, his face turned away. The lava grew deeper. It was near his feet now. He looked up and his eyes met Elihu’s.

  “Don’t do it,” Elihu whispered. “Don’t do it.”

  The lava rose higher. It was almost lapping against Jehu’s feet. One moccasin was starting to smolder.

  Finally, almost reluctantly, he jumped the rest of the way across and climbed up to join the others.

  Controlling the wind had taken its toll. The final straw was the effort and emotion expended to push Elihu to lead the villagers across the crack. As she pulled back from him, Shakre felt her hold slipping. It was not just her control of the wind that was slipping, either. It was her hold on herself. She felt frayed, tattered, like smoke drifting apart in a breeze. Her thoughts were increasingly fuzzy and disorganized. She retained enough of herself to realize that it was the wind. Humans were not meant to be so close to it for so long. It was blowing away the boundaries of who she was. If she spent much more time with it she would lose herself forever. But a terrible lassitude was drifting over her. As she rose into the air she looked down on the villagers and for a moment she could not think who they were or why they had seemed so important to her. They seemed so small and insignificant. The wind was carrying her away. Why fight it? Why not just give in and be free? The wind was free. She could be free with it. She could fly past everything, never dragged down by her burdens again.