Shadows of Empyriad (The Empyriad Series Book 1)

by Josi Russell

  Two bull bison were on the road now, knocking their heads together and twisting to catch each other with their horns. Their wrestling brought them closer to Sol. Other bison ambled behind them, broadening the herd out along the road.

  Sol climbed back in the truck as the bulls muscled each other closer. They were so close that Sol could see the curling of individual hairs on their ragged sides. He could hear, even with the windows up, their angry bawls.

  One knelt to get better leverage. The other knelt and there, directly in the road, the two strained, unmoving, against each other.

  Sol watched them for several minutes. Their eyes, rolled back with effort, were white and bulging. Their hooves scrambled for traction on the slick road, and they gained and lost a few inches by turns. They were equally matched, and equally determined. They could be here all day. Sol reached out and tapped the horn, drawing their attention briefly.

  The bison on the left used the distraction and scooped his head swiftly upward, catching the other right under the eye. A gash opened, and Sol saw the red flesh under the black hide. The wounded bull struggled back to his feet and began backing away, shaking his head. It looked like the fight was over for now.

  The victorious bull trotted around the truck, passing the door just inches from where Sol was sitting. As the big animal came around, he celebrated his triumph by crashing his head into the back of the truck. The bull shook his head and bumped the truck one last time, then trotted back to the herd, leaving a dent on the tailgate and a patch of hairy hide in the metal. Sol hit the steering wheel with his palm in frustration. This truck didn't need any more dents, and Uncle Carl would certainly have something to say about it. He would have to clean it up, and make sure that he had a decent cover story. Uncle Carl couldn’t know where the dent actually came from.

  Though a little shaken, Sol drove out as soon as there was enough room on the road, honking a little at the last stragglers of the herd as they meandered off the side of the road. Another irony. That many bison would tear up the grass in the valley just by walking through and eating it, but the Rangers panicked if one of the Stracahn wandered off the carefully delineated paths.

  Sol didn’t go straight out to the South gate. With his heart beating hard, he went west, following a sign that pointed toward the Old Faithful Village.

  He just wanted a quick peek, but the farther he drove, the more nervous he became. How would he explain this to a Ranger if he got caught? He’d say he got lost.

  As he drove up beside the guardhouse at Old Faithful Village, he saw Stracahn everywhere. Some of them wore long robes, orange and blue. They were working to rebuild the dilapidated log building that used to be called the Old Faithful Inn, and its new log roof rose bright and straight in the afternoon sun.

  Sol pulled to the side of the road and peered past the building. His heart jumped into his throat as he saw, for the first time, the billowing plume of a geyser eruption. It shot into the air, straight up and higher than the new roof. Steam poured from it and floated off across the barren rock of the basin. Sol had never seen the Earth manifest such power.

  He couldn’t stop watching, even as the plume died and was reduced to rolling steam from the geyser cone.

  Sol was suddenly aware of a face at his window. He looked over to see a Ranger peering in. The man’s tag said, “Bradley.” Sol hurriedly rolled down the window, his hands shaking.

  “You lost?” the man said, glancing toward the geyser. Sol could see that the man knew he’d been watching the eruption.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, looking down.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “The South gate, sir.”

  “Then you’ve missed your turn.” This man was different, Sol realized. Under his stern exterior, he seemed almost pleased to be talking to Sol. “You’ll need to turn around, go back about five miles, and turn right. That should take you back.” He gave Sol a long look. “And you’d probably better not stop again.” There was a note of warning in his voice.

  “Yes, sir,” Sol answered, breathing a sigh of relief. This was the second Ranger he’d met today that he actually liked. It was a strange feeling. They had seemed to enjoy talking to him. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps being sequestered in the park brought its own challenges. Maybe they even got bored. There couldn’t be much to do in here.

  Sol had plenty to do. After this, he had to get home and do the chores; then he'd said he'd meet up with some of his friends in town. He supposed Mezina would be there, and he drove a little faster to make up for the time he'd lost on his detour.

  Sol pulled the truck into his driveway and switched it off. His mother turned from her garden and waved a weary hand at him. Her hair was hidden under a wide sunhat, and she squinted perpetually from working in the sun all her life. She put down her hoe and came toward him.

  Sol snatched the permit from the dashboard and stuffed it under the seat just as she arrived.

  "You’re late coming from school." she called as he climbed out of the truck.

  He took a few steps toward her so he wouldn't have to shout. "Right. I had a virtual tutoring session."

  Molly looked disappointed. “Sol, you’re not letting yourself get distracted again, are you? You’ve only got a couple more weeks. You’ve got to focus.”

  Sol ducked his head. He didn’t like lying to her. “I know, Mom. It’s fine."

  He joined her in the garden, taking the hoe from her hands and working half-heartedly on a couple of weeds. “What did you do today?”

  “I finished the gold quilt.” She said.

  Sol had seen her working on it for days. It was the one thing she truly enjoyed. “I can’t wait to see it.” He said.

  “Don’t mention it to Uncle Carl, okay?” she said. “The fabric cost a bit more than I should have spent.”

  Sol scoffed. “We have plenty of money for your fabric.” He said, thinking of the hundreds of head of cattle they’d sold last fall. “We’re not going to starve. I don’t know what Uncle Carl is so afraid of.”

  Molly’s voice was a little bitter as she said, “Oh, Sol, people here are afraid of everything.” It was an uncommonly open admission. These had been coming more frequently as he’d gotten older. Maybe his mom was beginning to see him more as an adult, someone she could be honest with.

  “Why? Was it like this when you were growing up?”

  “It was beginning then. The governments had just merged into the Consolidated Terrene Leadership, and the borders opened all over the world.” She took back the hoe and began to work on the weeds as she spoke. “That was supposed to make for a freer exchange of ideas and help humanity to find more similarities than differences. It was supposed to erase both geographical and ideological lines. They thought if there were no more countries that people wouldn’t spend their time fighting for their own agendas.”

  She stopped talking as she chopped at a particularly tough root between two tomato plants.

  “But before, we were all sort of thrust together, and mixed up in one place with lots of different people and different ideas. After the borders were erased, people used the opening to move to places where more people thought like they did. They came from all over the world and banded into regions. There were no official geographical borders, but the ideological ones were worse than ever. Where once regions had a few people who thought one way living alongside a few people who believed a different way, and they could get to know each other, now, everyone in the various regions thought one way, and their ideas have just become more entrenched over time.” She sighed, and Sol knew she was thinking of his father. “Shoreline was an exception. There were people there with all kinds of ideas. That’s why the university was so wonderful. And that’s why Tim and I wanted to raise you there.”

  “Why was Shoreline different?” he asked, reaching for the happy memories of the sea and the sand that he kept buried most of the time.

  “It was hard to make a living there. Farther up the co
ast, on the West side of Cascadia, there was money to be made, and South in Sonora, but that little patch between them didn’t have anything that anyone wanted. A hundred years ago people bought up all the orchards and put houses and stores on them. Then, when the West Coast was invaded in the Terrene War, everyone fled inland. They abandoned all those houses. It was just a vast, empty city. All the jobs were in Megalopolis, in the Northeast, or working the land in one of these Western Regions. The people who moved to Shoreline didn’t mind fishing for their food and living in the dilapidated houses. The University cropped up there because a lot of the intellectuals who were so war-weary came to find solace in the sea. Most people came because they loved the landscape, and they put up with different people so they could live there.”

  Molly looked her son in the eye. “Resources are the fuel of hatred, Sol. They have always been. And when everyone is trying to get what you have, it changes you.” It was true. Harvest, Liberty, Cascadia, they had the best land for making food. And the people here had done just that for generations. And for all those generations, since the frontier had been settled over two centuries ago, people had been fighting for this land. Uncle Carl had spent his whole life fighting for their little wedge of land on the edge of Yellowstone, fighting back the wolves and the bear and the elk and the surrounding regions and the government, and for a while, the whole world. Sol guessed he was used to fighting now and couldn't help doing it with whoever was around.

  Just then Sol heard the growl of the crawler and flinched involuntarily. His uncle was coming, and Sol hadn’t even started his chores. He kissed his mom quickly and headed for the barn.

  11

  It was late afternoon when Zyn’dri’s father joined them in the hut. Zyn’dri calmed when he put his arms around her and traced a pattern on her hand as a greeting. It made her think of the strange patterns in Laska’s books and the moment she had frozen time on the ship.

  “What is wrong, Shshaa?” Her father asked, using their pet name for her. It meant “little warrior” in Stracahn. Zyn’dri blinked. She hadn’t told them what she had done. What if the time freezing was some kind of curse for refusing her calling?

  She tried to think of a reasonable answer. “I’d like to go out.” She said, gesturing toward the square of sunlight made by the window of the hut. Outside she could see a wide river cutting through the grasses of the valley, and she longed to be near living things again after the long space journey.

  “Of course.” Her father said. “This is our home now—the new beginning. Go and see what there is to love.”

  Zyn’dri touched three gathered fingers to his shoulder to show that she was happy. He tapped the back of her hand as she pulled it away and wandered out the door onto the path.

  The village was tidy, and there were Stracahn everywhere, but it felt empty somehow. There were no colorful baskets or blankets. There were no toys scattered in front of the huts. There were no firepits or logs for friends to sit on and visit. It felt temporary, basic. And Zyn’dri guessed that it was.

  She wandered down the path, looking for her friends. Her time on the ship had been lonely. Only Innueo was on the same ship as she and his mother was very protective. When she had wanted to play or explore, she’d had to do it by herself.

  A little fear caught in her mind as she realized that many of her friends wouldn’t be here. There was a chance that they had traveled on other ships, but there was also a chance that they had not made it off the planet at all. Zyn’dri looked around frantically.

  She felt relieved as almost immediately she caught sight of Adrik and Asvika, twins from her village back on Empyriad. They were huddled together in the doorway of a hut a few paces from her own. She looked around for their strong father, who always had candy to hand to his children's friends when he saw them.

  But Adrik and Asvika sat by themselves. Zyn'dri looked along the path, toward the intake station. She looked through the neat rows of huts and saw the scraggly line of Stracahn trying to settle in. Most of them still held their families close. She peeked into the screened windows of Adrik and Asvika’s hut, but their father was nowhere.

  And then she looked back at her friends. Their expression was dark; their shoulders slumped. They looked sad. Zyn'dri realized with a start that their father had not made it onto the ships. Their mother had died back on Empyriad shortly after they were born. Now, in this frightening new place, Adrik and Asvika were completely alone.

  She walked to them, feeling awkward. Should she mention it or not? Before she knew what she was saying, she blurted, “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Asvika looked up, deep sorrow in her eyes. “Thank you, Zyn’dri.”

  There was nothing left to say. “I’m going to the river,” Zyn’dri said, waving her hand in the general direction of the shining water she had seen. “Can you come along?”

  They looked at each other, and it occurred to Zyn’dri that there was no one to give them permission, or to deny it. They were free to go if they wanted to.

  Slowly, they stood. Zyn’dri saw how the siblings held hands as they followed her through the village.

  “We won’t get too close to the water?” Asvika said, a tremor in her voice.

  Adrik stepped closer to his sister. “Not too close. And if you feel scared, we’ll go back.”

  Zyn’dri shot them a puzzled look.

  “Drowning is my greatest fear,” Asvika explained. “And Adrik’s greatest fear is being up high. What’s your greatest fear, Zyn?”

  Zyn’dri thought for a moment. The seething Earth below them scared her, but she was afraid she’d have to explain what she meant by that, and usually when she said things like that people gave her strange looks. In the end, she just said, “Loud noises.” And it was true, loud noises did make her nervous, though she wasn’t sure they were her greatest fear. Asvika didn’t push for more details, though. Zyn’dri ran her finger along the top of the tall grass as they walked along the path to the river.

  As they drew closer to the rushing water, Zyn’dri was mesmerized by a flock of big white birds on the river. Their brightness was striking against the dark water, and they were graceful despite the unwieldy, oversized bills they were balancing. At first, while Zyn’dri and the twins tossed rocks into the river and waded in the icy eddies near the bank, the birds stood in the shallows and slept, their heads turned backward and their bills tucked under their wings. Later, when the children were sprawled on a hot rock, the birds awakened with a ceremony of feather-ruffling and wing stretching. They flapped into the middle of the churning water. Zyn’dri watched the one closest to her as it balanced on a rock just beneath the surface of the rapids. Occasionally the waves would knock it sideways, and its big white wings would arc out, wobbling until it had regained its balance. She watched as it hopped and dove, plunging its head into a deep part of the river and coming up with a fighting fish. The fish, its round mouth screaming silently, slipped into a pouch of loose skin under the bird’s bill. Zyn'dri watched, fascinated, as the leathery pouch flapped back and forth, the fish inside struggling to get out. The bird tipped its head back, and the bulge that was the fish slipped down its throat, ending the battle.

  More of the big white birds joined in, and when they were full they set sail on the water. They floated effortlessly out of the rapids and onto the wide, smooth water further down the valley. Zyn'dri watched the white specks of them until she heard the voices of her parents. Adrik and Asvika scrambled away, back to their hut, and Zyn’dri got the impression that they did not want to be around parents. Perhaps their pain was too new.

  Their loss hung in her heart as she walked with her parents toward the beaten-earth oval at the center of the village. At one end of it, nearest the Ranger checkpoint where humans came and went from the camp, was a large hut filled with tables. There was a long line of Strachan waiting for their food. It stretched out along the path, and Zyn’dri’s family stood in the sunlight waiting for their turn. Zyn'dri told her parents about th
e twins’ father, and she saw them exchange a look.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Her mother adjusted her lavender shawl and put a soft hand on Zyn’dri’s hair. “There are many Chantha now,” she said. Her eyes played across the line, and Zyn’dri looked toward the dining hut. Chantha was the Stracahn word for orphan.

  The long line was full of worn and weary Stracahn. For the first time, Zyn’dri noticed that they were mostly children. Their iridescent hands and faces flashed the light of the Earth’s sun back at her, and she saw a new solemnity and a new uncertainty in them.

  Zyn'dri leaned in and tucked her head close to her mother. This new place seemed suddenly so far away from Empyriad. It seemed full of pain and sadness. What would her friends do without their parents? Who would the Stracahn be after all this?

  As they approached the front of the line, Zyn’dri felt sick. The Rangers were ladling something from a large kettle into bowls. Most of the Stracahn took the dishes without comment. When it was Zyn’dri’s turn, she looked at the Ranger with the ladle.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Mutton stew.” The man barked as he pushed the hot bowl into her hands. “Donated meat from the good people of Liberty. Enjoy.”

  Zyn’dri peered into the bowl. It was a thick, strong-smelling stew. Perfect circles of fat floated atop it, and it was laden with orange and white vegetables. Zyn’dri grasped for a piece of bread and hurried to her table.

  On the way, she passed the Ranger’s table. They ate with relish, mopping the broth from their bowls with their bread.

  At her own table, Zyn’dri sat staring at the bowl, then looked up to watch as her mother sampled a bite. The humans wouldn’t have noticed, but Zyn’dri saw the way the corners of her mother’s mouth pinched together, she saw her mother’s effort to swallow.